Adios Muchachos

"Just go, Richard.  Enjoy your night off.  I'll be fine until Penny gets here.  You know that."  It was strictly against hospital regulation for any of the nurse's stations to be covered by less than 2 people at any one time.  Even late into the night, when it was typically quiet.  Supposedly, if a patient needed some sort of immediate assistance, someone had to remain at the desk to monitor all the other lights and beepy things and stuff.  

This rule was routinely broken.  Marilyn had worked this same desk, same overnight shift for around 20 years.  She knew she could handle the shift alone.  In fact, the policy had only changed 3 years ago when there was an incident down on floor “C”.  Before that, Marilyn was alone for almost 15 years, 4 nights a week.  She never had any problems.  Plus she was able to catch up on her reading.  She could knock off up to 3 books a night if the sick people behaved themselves.  She was currently reading the latest in a series of crime novels.  “Wrong Way Murder” was the 5^th of the series of murder mysteries, cleverly named to approximate traffic sign instructions.  The Cover illustration of the books had the title as it might appear on a scary road sign. 

Penny was Penelope Jackson (She was not related to Dr Johnson).  She had just hired on about 3 months before.  This was her first nurse gig.  Sweet kid, Marilyn thought, if not a little goofy.  Marilyn always claimed to be a confirmed bachelorette, but that never stopped Penny from trying to set her up with her Dad’s old loser Army buddies. 

“I don’t have time for a fella,” Marilyn would always reason, talking like she was from the 1930’s or something, I have my books and my cats that take up all my time,” which kind of explained it all. 

Marilyn also had a secret.  The real reason she could never marry.  I can’t really say what it is right now because it’s a secret, but I can tell you that it involves Dr Johnson, Burt Rasson and Robert Duvall.  Yes, the movie actor.

Richard was also a new addition to the hospital staff.  His job was to stay at the nurse’s station until Penny got there.  He was not actually a nurse.  He was a somewhat distant relative of Dr Johnson.  Dr Johnson understood there were many times at night that Marilyn was alone, but once the Human/Cat/Frog man checked in, Johnson insisted that his distant "cousin", who had been looking for work, come and keep Marilyn company.

“My stars, Herman Johnson, that is about the most unnecessary thing you’ve ever done for me,” Marilyn protested.

“I’m doing it for me.  I have never seen anything like this Johnson case, and I don’t know what that kid is capable of.  I don’t know how much of his mind is still his.  Man, I’ve really got to stop stalling and get out there and find that guy who invented that anti-freeze stuff!”  Explained Mr. Windypants (Marilyn’s secret name for Johnson).

“Oh I get it.  You do know I’m a cat lady, right?  I think I can handle the college boy”, Marilyn reminded him.

“Well I’d rather not take any chances, Raspberry,” Johnson’s secret code name for Marilyn (Because she was actually married to Johnson’s lifelong friend, Burt Rasson.  Oh crap.  Well, that’s only part of the secret).

Penny had never been this late before.  At least not without a phone call.  Normally, Richard didn’t mind.  But he was supposed to meet his “girlfriend” for their 2 year “anniversary”.  Judging by the quote marks, it looks like Richard may have a secret or two as well. 

This night he was pacing like a caged animal, frequently glancing up at the wall clock like a caged animal that could tell time.  “Just go.  You’re driving me crazy,” Marilyn urged again, “Believe me, I can handle it.”

“Are you sure,” Richard’s eyed brightening.

“Have fun, and give ‘her’ my best,” Marilyn said.

“Why you gotta say it like that,” Richard queried, a little bruised by the sarcastic tone.

“Go!”  Marilyn insisted.

Richard was big into fitness so he always took the stairs instead of the elevator.  It’s strange then that he failed to notice the crumpled up, mutilated body of Penny at the bottom of the stairwell.  It was only because he was in such a hurry that he disregarded the crimson heap as some forgotten refuse from the lab.  “Not my problem tonight,” he thought as he nimbly leapt over the girl, the big iron door to the outside slamming behind him, shutting out the horrible noise of catlike wailing coming from somewhere in the ventilation system of the hospital.

“That can’t be good,” thought Marilyn at the sound of furball, scratching and mewing his way through ventilation just above her head.  She glanced up from, “Reduced Life Ahead,” in time to see the glowing red eyes of the evil fuzzy wittow kitty, glaring down at her.

“Let’s do this,” Marilyn calmly suggested, setting down her book as lightning struck in the distance signaling the beginning of the most violent storm in the history of ever.

“Ahhh maybe not.  This one looks ready,”  thought Furball and Lenny as Furball slowly backed from the vent grate, deep into the system, as quietly as possible.

“I can’t believe you’re afraid of a little old lady, Oh mighty Furball,”   Came Lenny’s mocking voice, now a constant companion inside Furball’s head.  Somehow, the lab “accident” enabled some sort of one sided psychic link between Furball and Lenny.  Furball had little control over his thoughts or actions anymore.  And the previously mild-mannered college boy was “One sick puppy,” as furball would have put it if Lenny would get out of his head.

“It’s no use,” realized little Charlie McCarthy.  The front door to Chico’s was simply too big for him to open.  He’d have to wait until some other sad sack came along and opened the door for him.  He better come soon, too.  It looks like one hell of a storm brewing to the southwest. Charlie was not in the mood to get wet. 

Then Charlie saw a figure approaching, but judging from that buttery smooth gait, it could only be the ever cheery, Herman Johnson.  No way he’d go to a place like Chico’s.

“Need a little hand there, Charlie,” As their comedy sketch usually began …

“Not in the mood tonight Doc, could you just let me in,” Charlie said to the continued utter fascination of Johnson.

“Have it your way, Mick,” conceded Johnson as he walked into Chico’s and immediately saw where he needed to go.  Charlie followed him in. All of the pouters in the room who had casually glanced to see who was coming had to do a double-take as they saw the impossible walking motion of Charlie McCarthy.

Charlie squeezed up to the bar next to a couple of sad-eyed regulars.  He said nothing.  He didn’t have to.  Chico brought him a tiny little beer and walked away without a word.  The whiners on either side of him resumed the defeated sunken posture thing, occasionally wiping at their eyes.

Johnson found Butch and nodded over to the “Cathy room.”  Since this was the original Chico’s, “The Cathy Room” was what used to serve as the private poker game room when it was Donny’s place.  It was now the only place in the joint where talking was tolerated.  The poker game kind of died out as soon as everybody realized they all had these very excellent long, sad poker faces.

“What do you want, Johnson?”  Butch was not real friendly. 

“I need you to come back with me,” Johnson started.

“What?  Back where,” Butch was confused.  What could this asshole need?  Johnson just looked back, watching Butch without saying anything.  Then Butch understood.

“No effing way, Herman.  Besides we don’t have any more of the …”

“I can get some.  Marilyn.  She still has some,”   Said the good Dr.

“Marilyn?  How?  I mean, I’m not going, but how did she get the stuff.  Not Japan!  No you can’t trust those guys.  It’ll be shit.  And it’ll get us – you killed.”

“I’ve got to try, Butch,” Dr Johnson getting a little misty.  Maybe this depressing place is getting to me, he thought.

“Well, where are you going anyway? Does Duvall know about this?”

“... And he doesn't have to either.  I'll tell you what.  I'll even let you pick the place if you come with me,” Johnson was playing a risky card.  Maybe he was in the right room.

“That’ll be 1927, of course.  Is Richard ready?” asked butch as he grabbed his hat and left the bar with Johnson.

The time machine was a handheld device that Dr Johnson’s only relative invented.  His name was Richard and he was from the distant future.  To fuel his device, he killed the last female Sperm whale on the planet effectively forcing the species extinct.  At the time, his reasoning was that if his device worked, he could go back to say, the 1970’s and get all the Sperm Whales he needed.  He was a scientist, not a historian.  Even though it was the future, there was still no lubricant/anti-freeze agent that came anywhere close to the stuff made naturally by sperm whales.  Not many people know this, but time travel generates a tremendous amount of friction.  Without the proper lube/cooling you’ll burn up in “No time” as the old time travel saying goes.

 

Since the United States banned “the killing of whales just so’s you can load their fat into your engine” in the 1970s, guys like Janer have been hording whale oil, using it only in time travel emergencies.  This was one such emergency.  True story.