Hep was mildly disappointed that they weren't able to stop in Griggsville to see the Purple Martins. Saving the world, and themselves, had to come first, though.
They stopped in Atlanta on their way to Chicago, so the UTMCers could gas up. On their way out of town again, they passed a muffler man statue that was holding a giant hot dog.
Scroat glanced at it, then looked again. "Shit in my hand!" he yelled! "Hep! It's Jeb!"
Hep just had time to look and see the muffler man throwing a giant fiberglass hotdog at them. Luckily for them, it missed them completely, instead smashing a Ford Excursion parked across the street. The trucks alarm started going off.
They sped up to get away. Hep looked back when he could, and saw the muffler man statue retrieving its hot dog. That was awfully close.
***
Rather than ride all the way to Chicago, they stopped in Joliet. From there they went east to Gary, Indiana. From Gary they rode to Goshen.
When they saw the sign announcing they were in Goshen, Scroat yelled to Hep "Let my people go, you ugly son of a bitch!"
In Goshen, they found the Eby's Pines Campground. They decided to spend the night there.
***
That night, Hep woke up when he heard a weird buzzing. It sounded like a swarm of insects, only metal. He sat up, wondering what the hell it could be. He woke up Charlie and Scroat, and they sat listening and trying to figure out what would make such an awful racket. As the sound got closer, they started to see lights weaving and bobbing, and soon they realized that it was a large group of 2-stroke motors that were making all that noise.
"Guys! Wake up!" Hep called to the bikers sprawled around the campsite. They groggily sat up, asking what was going on, and what all the racket was.
Soon enough the motors came into view. It was a group of at least 30 guys on old Vespas, all of them wearing red shirts. They had the campsite surrounded.
One of them stepped forward. "Are you Hop?" he asked. He had horn-rimmed glasses, and multiple piercings.
"Hep."
"Whatever. You've got something we want. Hand it over."
"I don't think so. You're going to have to come get it." Hep said.
"I was hoping you'd say that." The scooterists dismounted, and all of them started walking towards Hep and the others. All except for one, who ran off to one side and started snapping photographs.
One scooterist charged at Dave, who saw him coming and drove his fist into the red shirt's gut. After that, the rest ran in, and the brawl began.
The red shirts didn't stand a chance.
Hep and Scroat fought back to back. Hep grabbed two of the scooter gang, and slammed their heads together. They dropped like bags of sand. Scroat grabbed on to one of them by the collar and punched him hard in the jaw. He fell down unconscious. Scroat looked down at him and said "Sucker, you got knocked the fuck out."
Charlie, meanwhile, was clubbing the hell out of anyone who got close to him with a shillelagh. Red shirts fell to his left and right. "Damn, I love the Irish!" he called to Hep.
The UTMCers pounded the red shirts foolish enough to approach them into the ground. In a matter of minutes, the only red shirted person still standing was the one furiously taking photos, muttering "this is great!"
Hep limped over to him, picked him up with one hand, took the camera away with the other and said "Now get the hell out of here before we have to mess you up too, buddy." Then he set him down.
"Uh, can I have my camera back?" the photographer asked. Hep looked at him, then at the camera. He opened the back, pulled out the film, and tossed the camera to the red shirt.
"Take a hike." Hep said. He went back to where the others were standing, surveying the mess.
"I guess we'd better clear out of here before these guys wake up." Hep said.
They rode from the campground to Aubrun, and started looking for a place to sleep. There they found a Best Western with some vacancies. Hep, Scroat and Charlie were mildly annoyed that the room they got smelled like a wet dog, but by that point they was too tired to go to the desk and complain, so they just went to sleep.
Chapter 13
Hep woke up as Scroat yelled "You rotten shitbag, that's not even your trick!" and Charlie laughed.
"Sorry Hep, I couldn't wait." Charlie said. He made a sorry face, then laughed again. Hep grunted, got out of bed and walked to the bathroom.
"Man, that's a dick move when Hep does it. And you sure as shit aren't Hep." Scroat said to Charlie.
They went down to see what there was for breakfast. There was a fine selection of bad donuts, bad bagels, really bad eggs, mediocre toast, rubbery bacon, and thick-as-tar old coffee. They made the best of it, and choked it down after generously applying Tabasco to everything except the coffee. They just avoided the coffee.
They went out to the bikes and fired them up. As the motors warmed, they discussed their next move. Charlie suggested that they head for Missouri, by way of Kansas. He figured that whomever was chasing them probably assumed they were headed for Minnesota, and would be waiting for them in Iowa or South Dakota.
"That means we're going to have to backtrack" Scroat said.
"Have you got a better idea?" Charlie said. Scroat scowled at him.
"What-fucking-ever. Let's just go."
They rolled out of the parking lot, and started south. As they were getting out of Omaha, Hep spotted a water tower shaped like a giant coffee pot. He chuckled to himself, wondering how much of that they could polish off, were it actually filled with coffee.
The rest of the trip through Nebraska was absolutely chock full of nothing of interest to anyone, anywhere in the world. They crossed into Kansas and marveled at the variety and selection of boring things to look at. No matter where they looked, there was something just as boring, if not more boring than where they had just looked.
So they were grateful when they arrived in Overland Park after about three hours.
They stopped at a fast food joint and got some burgers. They went and sat at the outdoor tables. A Ronald MacDonald statue was posed on a wooden bench nearby.
"I don't think I've been this fucking bored in 93 years." Scroat said as they ate.
"Suck it up. We'll be in St. Louis in about four hours." Charlie said.
Hep looked around at the scenic parking lot. Right then he would have been happy to be back in Nevada. As he looked around, he made eye contact with Ronald. The statue started, quickly looked away and resumed its pose.
"Shit! Ronald over there was watching us!" Hep whispered urgently to Scroat, Jim and Charlie.
Scroat picked up a rock and chucked it at the statue's head. It made a hollow noise when it hit Ronald in the forehead. The statue didn't move.
"Already gone. Damn it."
"Let's go." Hep said.
They got on the road immediately, and hauled ass to get into Missouri. They stopped roughly two hours later in Columbia.
"So going to St. Louis is probably a bad idea, huh?" Jim said.
"Yeah, probably." Hep said. "Any ideas, gentlemen."
"I say we go find a muffler man and start kicking his ass until he tells us who's after us." Scroat said.
"Well, that'd be fun, but I think we might get tired after the third muffler man who doesn't know anything." Charlie said.
"I'm game! I haven't laid waste to anything for too long." Scroat said.
"Right, well, when it's time to lay waste to something, I'll be sure to call you." Hep said.
Hep dug out a road map and studied it for a few minutes, trying to find someplace inconspicuous to go for the night.
"Let's head to Quincy. It's should only be a couple more hours from here. It's just over the border in Illinois." Hep said.
They got back on the road, heading northwest now. The road, as expected, was dull.
"Let's just go find a fiberglass statue and kick it's ass on general principle." Scroat shouted. "I'm fuckin' bored!"
***
They checked into the Bel Aire Motel in Quincy. It was an entirely unremarkable place, but it was cheap and they were happy to find that the rooms were neat and clean.
Hep picked up the phone right after they got into the room.
"Who are you calling?" Charlie asked.
"Some of my pals in Denver. They're just crazy enough to come out here, and they've got to know some folks in Illinois who can come too." Hep said. Hep's friends were, of course, the Uniformly Terrific Motorcycle Crazies. The members, who all refused to be called members, were the sort of guys who would ride for 24 hours straight on a ratty, 1970's Honda with a plywood seat if you gave them the chance.
"Hello, Dave? Hey buddy, it's Hep."
"Hep! Are you in town? Are you coming out for coffee?" Dave said.
"No, I'm in Illinois. I was out there a couple days ago, but..."
"Waitaminnit. You were in Denver and you didn't even call? That's cold, man. Shoot, I'm not sure I want to talk to you anymore," Dave said.
Hep explained that they were being pursued, and whoever was after them had people waiting in Denver. So, instead of hanging around and being easy targets, they took off as quickly as they could. Could he and some of the guys come to Illinois and help?
"Where are you at in Illinois, Hep?" Dave asked.
Hep told him, and gave him directions.
"We'll be there lickety-split. Don't you go anywhere." Dave said, and hung up the phone.
Hep sighed, and slouched down in his chair.
"So are they coming?" Scroat asked.
"Yep." Hep replied.
"Why the hell didn't we get them while we were in Denver?" Scroat asked.
Hep didn't answer. He jumped when the phone rang. Hep answered it, wondering what had gone wrong.
"Hep, is that you?" the voice on the other end drawled.
"Elvis. Hey pal, what's going on?"
"Man, you are in a world of shit." Elvis said. "I found out who's behind all this trouble."
"Oh yeah, who's that?" Hep asked.
"It's Seth." Elvis said.
"Seth? But I thought he was sent..."
Elvis interrupted, "Yeah, he was, but now he's here. So what are you going to do?"
Hep told him that eight of the UTMC crew were on their way out to Illinois right then. He figured that with eight of them, and Scroat, Charlie and himself, they'd all probably be ok.
Elvis told him that Tommy had sent word that he was in Pittsburgh for the time being. He told Hep to look after himself, and hung up the phone.
Shit, Hep thought. He'd had a run-in with Seth in Egypt once. Seth was a vicious fighter, persistent and, worst of all, only interested in causing chaos. Seth was bad news.
Charlie was staring at Hep. "Did I hear that Seth is after us?"
"Yep." Hep said.
"Oh fuck." Scroat said quietly.
"What? Who's Seth? What's the big deal?" Jim asked.
Hep explained that Seth liked war and chaos, especially chaos. That meant that he wasn't trying to gain power of some sort by stealing Tommy's tobacco pouch. It meant that he really was trying to destroy Tommy's mythology, and use that as a starting point for destroying everyone else's myths, until the world of the gods and men were both plunged into chaos. In essence, Seth wanted all hell to break loose.
"And that would be bad, in case you didn't get it." Scroat said to Jim.
"I'm not that stupid, Scroat." Jim said.
"Could have fooled me." Scroat shot back.
As it got later, they had a pizza delivered to their room. After they ate, Charlie and Scroat turned on the TV. Hep, meanwhile, went down to the lobby to see what there was to see in Illinois. He was excited to learn that Griggsville was the Purple Martin Capital of the World. He hoped they'd be able to pass through Griggsville, just to see the massive birdhouses built for the Purple Martins. He also grabbed a flyer for the "Life Size Statue of the World's Tallest Man."
Hep had meant it when he told Jim that humans were funny sometimes. He liked to stop at roadside attractions, just because they were so frequently entirely bizarre and seemingly pointless, yet someone had thought it was important enough to erect the World's Largest Thermometer that they found a way to do it. Someone out there had been obsessed enough to build a castle in the middle of the desert, entirely out of things he'd found for free. Why? Who knows.
Hep, as a god who liked to build things on a big scale, could appreciate what drove them to do it, and he loved and hated to see the results, forgotten on the side of a road, important to no one except the people who created them.
He went back to the room.
***
"So did Elvis tell you where Tommy is, Hep?" Charlie asked.
"Yep, he's in Pittsburgh." Hep said. He told them that he thought they should go up through Chicago, and then East to Pittsburgh.
"Seems reasonable enough." Charlie asked. "So when can we expect your pals from Denver?"
"I expect they'll be here early tomorrow morning, though they're probably going to need a lot of coffee when they get here." Hep replied.
Suddenly, they all noticed that the TV had been unusually quiet for several minutes. They turned and looked, and saw a newscaster grinning back at them. He waved at them.
"This just in, Tommy is in Pittsburgh and you guys are going to be in a whole new world of hurt! More at 11," the talking head said. Scroat turned the TV off quickly.
"Shit on a stick!" Scroat exclaimed, "We can't even watch TV!"
"I told you no good could come from TV seventy years ago." Hep said.
"Oh, hey, you know who can gobble shit straight from a pig's ass?" Scroat started.
"No time for that." Charlie said. "What do you think we should do Hep?"
"I think we need to wait for my crew to arrive, and then we need to get the hell out of here."
Hep spent an uneasy night, sleeping for ten minutes, then jumping awake whenever he heard something. Scroat slept deeply, and Charlie was propped up in a chair, sleeping facing the door, with a pistol next to his hand. A pistol wouldn't stop Seth, (though it might slow him down a bit) however, it would definitely stop most other unwelcome visitors.
That morning, Hep woke up when he heard a group of motorcycles pull in just outside their room. He got out of bed, and shook Scroat awake.
"What the?" Scroat said. "That's the nicest you've ever woken me up."
"Don't get used to it. I just didn't want anyone unfriendly to hear you yelling." Hep said.
He woke up Charlie, and Jim popped back into the room.
"A whole bunch of guys on grimy old motorcycles just pulled into the parking lot. They've all got a picture of an old-timey bomb on their jackets." Jim said.
Hep smiled. "They made it."
Soon enough they heard boots stomping toward their room, and laughter. Someone pounded on the door.
"Culligan man! Open the fuckin' door!" a voice said, and someone laughed.
Hep unlocked the door and opened it. Standing there were eight dusty, bow-legged, grinning maniacs. Hep grinned.
"Hey guys, come in." Hep said. They all filed into the tiny room. There wasn't really room for all of them, so they stood awkwardly, and tried to get out of the way and Hep, Scroat and Charlie got ready to leave.
Five minutes later, they were on the road and headed for Chicago.
"Sorry Hep, I couldn't wait." Charlie said. He made a sorry face, then laughed again. Hep grunted, got out of bed and walked to the bathroom.
"Man, that's a dick move when Hep does it. And you sure as shit aren't Hep." Scroat said to Charlie.
They went down to see what there was for breakfast. There was a fine selection of bad donuts, bad bagels, really bad eggs, mediocre toast, rubbery bacon, and thick-as-tar old coffee. They made the best of it, and choked it down after generously applying Tabasco to everything except the coffee. They just avoided the coffee.
They went out to the bikes and fired them up. As the motors warmed, they discussed their next move. Charlie suggested that they head for Missouri, by way of Kansas. He figured that whomever was chasing them probably assumed they were headed for Minnesota, and would be waiting for them in Iowa or South Dakota.
"That means we're going to have to backtrack" Scroat said.
"Have you got a better idea?" Charlie said. Scroat scowled at him.
"What-fucking-ever. Let's just go."
They rolled out of the parking lot, and started south. As they were getting out of Omaha, Hep spotted a water tower shaped like a giant coffee pot. He chuckled to himself, wondering how much of that they could polish off, were it actually filled with coffee.
The rest of the trip through Nebraska was absolutely chock full of nothing of interest to anyone, anywhere in the world. They crossed into Kansas and marveled at the variety and selection of boring things to look at. No matter where they looked, there was something just as boring, if not more boring than where they had just looked.
So they were grateful when they arrived in Overland Park after about three hours.
They stopped at a fast food joint and got some burgers. They went and sat at the outdoor tables. A Ronald MacDonald statue was posed on a wooden bench nearby.
"I don't think I've been this fucking bored in 93 years." Scroat said as they ate.
"Suck it up. We'll be in St. Louis in about four hours." Charlie said.
Hep looked around at the scenic parking lot. Right then he would have been happy to be back in Nevada. As he looked around, he made eye contact with Ronald. The statue started, quickly looked away and resumed its pose.
"Shit! Ronald over there was watching us!" Hep whispered urgently to Scroat, Jim and Charlie.
Scroat picked up a rock and chucked it at the statue's head. It made a hollow noise when it hit Ronald in the forehead. The statue didn't move.
"Already gone. Damn it."
"Let's go." Hep said.
They got on the road immediately, and hauled ass to get into Missouri. They stopped roughly two hours later in Columbia.
"So going to St. Louis is probably a bad idea, huh?" Jim said.
"Yeah, probably." Hep said. "Any ideas, gentlemen."
"I say we go find a muffler man and start kicking his ass until he tells us who's after us." Scroat said.
"Well, that'd be fun, but I think we might get tired after the third muffler man who doesn't know anything." Charlie said.
"I'm game! I haven't laid waste to anything for too long." Scroat said.
"Right, well, when it's time to lay waste to something, I'll be sure to call you." Hep said.
Hep dug out a road map and studied it for a few minutes, trying to find someplace inconspicuous to go for the night.
"Let's head to Quincy. It's should only be a couple more hours from here. It's just over the border in Illinois." Hep said.
They got back on the road, heading northwest now. The road, as expected, was dull.
"Let's just go find a fiberglass statue and kick it's ass on general principle." Scroat shouted. "I'm fuckin' bored!"
***
They checked into the Bel Aire Motel in Quincy. It was an entirely unremarkable place, but it was cheap and they were happy to find that the rooms were neat and clean.
Hep picked up the phone right after they got into the room.
"Who are you calling?" Charlie asked.
"Some of my pals in Denver. They're just crazy enough to come out here, and they've got to know some folks in Illinois who can come too." Hep said. Hep's friends were, of course, the Uniformly Terrific Motorcycle Crazies. The members, who all refused to be called members, were the sort of guys who would ride for 24 hours straight on a ratty, 1970's Honda with a plywood seat if you gave them the chance.
"Hello, Dave? Hey buddy, it's Hep."
"Hep! Are you in town? Are you coming out for coffee?" Dave said.
"No, I'm in Illinois. I was out there a couple days ago, but..."
"Waitaminnit. You were in Denver and you didn't even call? That's cold, man. Shoot, I'm not sure I want to talk to you anymore," Dave said.
Hep explained that they were being pursued, and whoever was after them had people waiting in Denver. So, instead of hanging around and being easy targets, they took off as quickly as they could. Could he and some of the guys come to Illinois and help?
"Where are you at in Illinois, Hep?" Dave asked.
Hep told him, and gave him directions.
"We'll be there lickety-split. Don't you go anywhere." Dave said, and hung up the phone.
Hep sighed, and slouched down in his chair.
"So are they coming?" Scroat asked.
"Yep." Hep replied.
"Why the hell didn't we get them while we were in Denver?" Scroat asked.
Hep didn't answer. He jumped when the phone rang. Hep answered it, wondering what had gone wrong.
"Hep, is that you?" the voice on the other end drawled.
"Elvis. Hey pal, what's going on?"
"Man, you are in a world of shit." Elvis said. "I found out who's behind all this trouble."
"Oh yeah, who's that?" Hep asked.
"It's Seth." Elvis said.
"Seth? But I thought he was sent..."
Elvis interrupted, "Yeah, he was, but now he's here. So what are you going to do?"
Hep told him that eight of the UTMC crew were on their way out to Illinois right then. He figured that with eight of them, and Scroat, Charlie and himself, they'd all probably be ok.
Elvis told him that Tommy had sent word that he was in Pittsburgh for the time being. He told Hep to look after himself, and hung up the phone.
Shit, Hep thought. He'd had a run-in with Seth in Egypt once. Seth was a vicious fighter, persistent and, worst of all, only interested in causing chaos. Seth was bad news.
Charlie was staring at Hep. "Did I hear that Seth is after us?"
"Yep." Hep said.
"Oh fuck." Scroat said quietly.
"What? Who's Seth? What's the big deal?" Jim asked.
Hep explained that Seth liked war and chaos, especially chaos. That meant that he wasn't trying to gain power of some sort by stealing Tommy's tobacco pouch. It meant that he really was trying to destroy Tommy's mythology, and use that as a starting point for destroying everyone else's myths, until the world of the gods and men were both plunged into chaos. In essence, Seth wanted all hell to break loose.
"And that would be bad, in case you didn't get it." Scroat said to Jim.
"I'm not that stupid, Scroat." Jim said.
"Could have fooled me." Scroat shot back.
As it got later, they had a pizza delivered to their room. After they ate, Charlie and Scroat turned on the TV. Hep, meanwhile, went down to the lobby to see what there was to see in Illinois. He was excited to learn that Griggsville was the Purple Martin Capital of the World. He hoped they'd be able to pass through Griggsville, just to see the massive birdhouses built for the Purple Martins. He also grabbed a flyer for the "Life Size Statue of the World's Tallest Man."
Hep had meant it when he told Jim that humans were funny sometimes. He liked to stop at roadside attractions, just because they were so frequently entirely bizarre and seemingly pointless, yet someone had thought it was important enough to erect the World's Largest Thermometer that they found a way to do it. Someone out there had been obsessed enough to build a castle in the middle of the desert, entirely out of things he'd found for free. Why? Who knows.
Hep, as a god who liked to build things on a big scale, could appreciate what drove them to do it, and he loved and hated to see the results, forgotten on the side of a road, important to no one except the people who created them.
He went back to the room.
***
"So did Elvis tell you where Tommy is, Hep?" Charlie asked.
"Yep, he's in Pittsburgh." Hep said. He told them that he thought they should go up through Chicago, and then East to Pittsburgh.
"Seems reasonable enough." Charlie asked. "So when can we expect your pals from Denver?"
"I expect they'll be here early tomorrow morning, though they're probably going to need a lot of coffee when they get here." Hep replied.
Suddenly, they all noticed that the TV had been unusually quiet for several minutes. They turned and looked, and saw a newscaster grinning back at them. He waved at them.
"This just in, Tommy is in Pittsburgh and you guys are going to be in a whole new world of hurt! More at 11," the talking head said. Scroat turned the TV off quickly.
"Shit on a stick!" Scroat exclaimed, "We can't even watch TV!"
"I told you no good could come from TV seventy years ago." Hep said.
"Oh, hey, you know who can gobble shit straight from a pig's ass?" Scroat started.
"No time for that." Charlie said. "What do you think we should do Hep?"
"I think we need to wait for my crew to arrive, and then we need to get the hell out of here."
Hep spent an uneasy night, sleeping for ten minutes, then jumping awake whenever he heard something. Scroat slept deeply, and Charlie was propped up in a chair, sleeping facing the door, with a pistol next to his hand. A pistol wouldn't stop Seth, (though it might slow him down a bit) however, it would definitely stop most other unwelcome visitors.
That morning, Hep woke up when he heard a group of motorcycles pull in just outside their room. He got out of bed, and shook Scroat awake.
"What the?" Scroat said. "That's the nicest you've ever woken me up."
"Don't get used to it. I just didn't want anyone unfriendly to hear you yelling." Hep said.
He woke up Charlie, and Jim popped back into the room.
"A whole bunch of guys on grimy old motorcycles just pulled into the parking lot. They've all got a picture of an old-timey bomb on their jackets." Jim said.
Hep smiled. "They made it."
Soon enough they heard boots stomping toward their room, and laughter. Someone pounded on the door.
"Culligan man! Open the fuckin' door!" a voice said, and someone laughed.
Hep unlocked the door and opened it. Standing there were eight dusty, bow-legged, grinning maniacs. Hep grinned.
"Hey guys, come in." Hep said. They all filed into the tiny room. There wasn't really room for all of them, so they stood awkwardly, and tried to get out of the way and Hep, Scroat and Charlie got ready to leave.
Five minutes later, they were on the road and headed for Chicago.
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