Click here to check out the print version

PRAISE FOR

Brace for Impact

"Wait, it's not one of those choose-your-own-adventure books? No thanks."

—"Small Balls" Hill

"Just because I share a bed with you doesn't mean I have to read your crap book. Now, go make me a sandwich."

—Ballena, www.ballena53.com

"I have disposable income, dude, but I don't want to read your book. I lived it, dude."

—Mick Aloha, www.mickaloha.com

"I didn't come all the way here...to Memphis, Tennessee...to read your crap book."

—Jake Bastion, C.E.O. of the M.V.W.F.

"My dog told me it's great."

—Sir Timothy

"...now, wait a minute. This Mick Aloha character, is he the one that hit me?"

—Punky Stratton, M.V.W.F. disputed champion

Other Books by Apocalypse D

BRACE

FOR

IMPACT

Apocalypse D

NOTE: If you bought this book without a cover, then how did you know which book you were buying?

Although several characters in this book are loosely based on the author's friends, all characterizations are completely fictional. All events in this book are fictional, with the exception of Mick Aloha's drunken rampages, which are real and well-documented.

BRACE FOR IMPACT

More information about the author can be found at www.themoonmasters.com. The author can be contacted at apocalypsedowell@gmail.com.

ISBN 978-1-4303-2207-8

This is the first print edition.

First print edition: June 2007

Any mentioned trademarked or copyrighted products or names have trademarks and copyrights owned by the respective trademark and copyright owners. As such, these trademarks and copyrights should be respected and treated with suitable reverence.

This book is dedicated to Punky Stratton and all of the other small-time wrestlers out there. Keep breaking necks, boys.

WARNING:

This book contains adult language and childish situations. If you're offended by naughty swears please proceed no further.

Chapter 1

Monday 6:40am (E.S.T.)

The smell of meat disturbed Apocalypse Dowell's slumber.

"Come out and meat your death. That's a play on words." It was one of Apocalypse Dowell's lesser enemies.

Apocalypse Dowell knew how slowly this enemy moved, so he took the time to put on a pair of jeans and a green and white checked flannel shirt before stepping out of his bedroom.

When Apocalypse Dowell stepped over a stack of his CDs in the hallway and fell into the living room, his enemy Steakzooka shot a 12 ounce NY Strip at him; the projectile narrowly missed Apocalypse Dowell's head.

Steakzooka, a five-foot two-inch purple Japanese robot with a stolen American speech card, stood over Apocalypse Dowell, aimed his bazooka shaped steak-shooter, and fired again. Apocalypse Dowell rolled on the floor, dodging the projectile.

"I've allowed you to keep living too long, vegetarian. Now, taste the metallic irony of a meat-loving robot."

When Apocalypse Dowell stood up, Steakzooka switched his steak-shooter to automatic and fired steaks at Apocalypse Dowell so quickly they covered him up to his neck. Apocalypse Dowell couldn't move.

"That was too easy, Apocalypse Dowell. Don't you have any weapons?"

"Yeah, I do, but they're attached to the ceiling."

Steakzooka admired the row of specialized super villain-fighting weaponry, which was attached to the ceiling with duct tape. Steakzooka unsuccessfully jumped to try to reach them.

"They're too high. How am I supposed to reach them?"

"You're not." Apocalypse Dowell struggled against the meat, but couldn't move. "They're my weapons and I'm tall. It keeps short people and robots like you away from my weapons."

Steakzooka laughed an evil robotic laugh. "How does it feel to be defeated, Apocalypse Dowell? How does it feel? Soon, I will control the world with my meat arsenal. Then, all will bow before Steakzooka."

Apocalypse Dowell struggled to free himself from his meat bondage, but the more he struggled, the deeper he sank into the pile of steaks.

Steakzooka walked up to the pile of meat and grabbed Apocalypse Dowell's hair.

"Where are those plans? Where are the plans that can destroy Mick Aloha? With you two out of the way, I can never be stopped."

"I thought you and Aloha were friends." Apocalypse Dowell shook his head and freed himself from the robot's grip. "He invited you to his Super Bowl party last year. He said you brought meat pie and a casserole."

"Yes, all part of my devious, deceptive, well-thought-out plot. Now, where are those plans?"

"You'll just kill me if I tell you. Why don't you go take a look?"

"Why don't I just kill you instead?" Steakzooka started firing steaks pointblank at Apocalypse Dowell's head. Struggling to maintain consciousness, Apocalypse Dowell stared at the tube connected to the back of Steakzooka's steak-shooter. It ran through the open apartment door and into the hallway, somehow supplying Steakzooka with steaks. Just before he lost consciousness, Apocalypse Dowell smelled barbecue.

Apocalypse Dowell awoke completely covered with steak. He could barely breathe, and when he opened his mouth to help his breathing, the foul taste of meat filled his mouth.

He thought he was going to lose consciousness again when he heard a low rumble approaching him through the pile of meat. It grew louder until the meat on his head was removed. Mick Aloha, his sworn archenemy who lived in the apartment across the hall, looked down at him.

"What the hell are you doing in here, dude?" Mick Aloha collected more of the steaks and placed them in a wheelbarrow, freeing Apocalypse Dowell.

"I was trapped. I guess you saved me."

"Damn it! I knew there had to be a catch to so much free meat." Mick Aloha continued to collect steaks. "Where the hell did it all come from anyway, dude? Was that purple bastard here?"

"Yeah, it was Steakzooka." Apocalypse Dowell picked pieces of meat off his clothing and threw them onto his living room floor.

"You rang?" The voice came from the hallway outside the apartment.

Steakzooka then burst through the wall like the Kool-Aid man, firing steaks at Apocalypse Dowell.

Mick Aloha jumped in front of Dowell and started catching the flying meat, tossing it into his wheelbarrow.

"Damn you, Dowell! My love of meat is more powerful than my hatred of you!"

As Mick Aloha continued collecting the projectiles, he and Apocalypse Dowell edged closer to Steakzooka.

"I can see you're quite a meat lover, Mick Aloha. But, why would you help Apocalypse Dowell? He's your arch enemy." Steakzooka increased his steak-shooter's firing speed.

"Two reasons, jackass," Mick Aloha, just inches away from Steakzooka, replied. "One, I love meat. Two, I hate robots."

Apocalypse Dowell then ran behind Steakzooka and grabbed his steak-shooter, leaving the robot momentarily vulnerable as Mick Aloha stepped up and gave Steakzooka the Big Boot. Steakzooka's head bounced off the ceiling and landed in a corner of the room as his body collapsed. The head started beeping.

Mick Aloha and Apocalypse Dowell just made it out of the apartment before the head exploded.

Chapter 2

Monday 6:18p.m. (E.S.T.)

It was dark when the last firefighters left. Police officers and city officials stood in groups around the property, talking together in low tones as the former residents sat on the sidewalk. Mick Aloha and Apocalypse Dowell stood beside what had been the complex's laundry room.

Mick Aloha kicked at some of the charred remains. "Well, Dowell, this sucks."

"Yeah, it does, Mick. I don't know what I'm going to do."

"I don't know what you're going to do, either, dude. Myself, I'm going to stay with my family."

"I just wish I had somewhere to stay for a while. At least for tonight."

"Ah, I see what you're getting at, Dowell. Don't worry, there's a Motel 6 just about a mile from here. You know where it is, fool, up by that vegetarian restaurant you always go to. They'll fix you right up, Dowell."

"Thanks, Mick. It's just, well, uh, I don't really have any money right now. Steakzooka woke me up so I didn't have my wallet on me and..."

"Should have already been up, Dowell. You gotta get up early and get things done."

"OK, I know. Anyway, my wallet and my credit cards."

"Credit cards are evil, dude. You shouldn't buy something you can't afford. I never do."

"So anyway, Aloha, I don't have any cash and it'll be a while before they can replace my cards and the banks are closed and, well, my family moved to Florida."

"Don't you have any friends, dude? You're always bragging about how many more friends you have than me. Where the hell are they?"

"I haven't been able to get in touch with them. My phone's melted, and I don't have any money for a pay phone. Can I use the phone at your family's house?"

"Dowell, let me get this straight. There's no way I'd ever let you into my family's house."

As Apocalypse Dowell contemplated the advantages of hitting Mick Aloha on the head, a messenger robot ran up to them. Mick Aloha took a karate pose.

The robot, which had a bright yellow case and stood nearly six feet tall, scanned Mick Aloha and Apocalypse Dowell briefly before a cover lifted on its chest, revealing a TV screen.

The screen flickered on and the face of a woman appeared. It was Katie, the girl Mick Aloha and Apocalypse Dowell had fought over for years. She'd shown little to no interest in either of them, and had finally moved across the country to get away from them.

"I need your help," she said. "536 34th Avenue San Francisco. I'm being held here by an evil you can't imagine. There might be a chance if you can be here at seven o'clock on Saturday night. Be careful." The image disappeared; the robot turned and walked away.

"Well, see you, Dowell." Mick Aloha turned away and started walking down the sidewalk.

"Hold on a second, Aloha. Where the hell do you think you're going?"

Mick Aloha stopped and turned back around. "To get my girl, Dowell."

"She's all the way in San Francisco, Aloha. San Francisco. We're in Kentucky. Do you know how far it is from here to San Francisco?"

"A couple hundred miles? Hell, I can run it once I get a burger in me."

"Two thousand miles, Aloha. And, part of that's across a desert."

"I know that, Dowell. I read the paper and I own an atlas, you jackass."

"Well, how are you going to get there, then?"

"Hell if I know, dude. Damn it, Dowell. Everything's all clear until you start asking damn questions. What am I going to do? I'm going to save my girl. How am I going to get there? Hell if I know, dude. Damn you, Dowell."

"Look, Aloha. I'm going, too. She asked me, too, and I can't have you botching this thing up and..."

"Damn you, Dowell! You're not going. I know, you can stay at my family's place. I'll ask my mom to make you goddam vegetarian breakfasts. How about that? Oh, there's satellite TV, so after everyone goes to bed you can watch porn. Wait, do you even like girls?"

"Damn you, Aloha!" Apocalypse Dowell charged Mick Aloha and tripped over the edge of the sidewalk, causing Mick Aloha's Big Boot to miss his head by inches. The Big Boot's momentum threw Mick Aloha to the sidewalk, too.

"I'm going, Aloha," Apocalypse Dowell said as he lay on the sidewalk, holding his lower back. They stood up.

"OK, you son of a bitch. You'll give me something to laugh at along the way. Now, how the hell are we going to get there?"

"Don't you have any super powers that can get you there quicker?"

"No, Dowell, I don't. All of my superpowers have to do with kicking ass. I always assumed I'd be where the action was. How about you?"

"No, me neither. Most of my powers relate to not doing stuff, like not eating meat or drinking alcohol. Oh, this is cool. I can make my digestive system stop so if I swallow poison it won't hurt me."

"Damn it, Dowell. You're useless. Apoca-useless Dowell is what they ought to call you. You got any money?"

"No, I already told you not until the insurance company pays me or the banks send me new credit cards. How about you?"

"Yes, I have disposable income, dude. Didn't I tell you? But, I spent my last paycheck in twenty minutes, and I've been eating burgers for breakfast and lawn clippings for dinner since then. So, no, Dowell, I don't have any money." Mick Aloha reached into his pocket and removed a $20 bill. "Well, I'll be goddamned. Here's twenty dollars. I'm set, Dowell, but I guess you're still screwed. Let's walk."

They started walking down the sidewalk.

"Aloha, if she could get a message to a robot, why didn't she just sent it to the police?"

"Because she wanted the best, Dowell. And, that's me." Mick Aloha rubbed his hands against his blue Hawaiian shirt as they continued down the road.

The sun dropped below the horizon as they cleared the city limits of Elizabethtown, Kentucky, and merged by foot onto the interstate. Cars zipped by them as they walked south along I-65.

"This is a bad idea, Aloha. It's illegal to walk on the interstate." Apocalypse Dowell was hungry and sleepy, but didn't want to tell Mick Aloha.

"Damn it, Dowell. Can't you break the rules for once?" Mick Aloha squinted his eyes to block the headlights of the northbound traffic. "How long do you think it would take us on the back roads? Forever. That's how long it would take, Dowell. You know why? Because we'd die. There are thousands of farmers out there waiting for a couple young bucks like us, well, like me, to come along. Next thing you know, you're some farmer's bitch. I'm no one's bitch, Dowell."

"Shut up, bitch."

"Damn you, Dowell." Mick Aloha shook his head and furrowed his brow. "Anyway, we might get a ride, too. That would save us some time."

Twenty minutes and two miles later, Mick Aloha said, "I have an idea, dude. We'll walk to the truck stop in Sonora and get us something to eat. Then, we can work us out a ride. They'll be more likely to pick us up there than they would on the road. Lots of characters out on the road. And, there's the whores."

"The what?" Apocalypse Dowell had never been to the truck stop in Sonora, and he was starting to think that he didn't want to go.

"Whores, dude. Truck stop whores. Hookers. Prostitutes. Ladies of the night. Women of the willow world. The oldest profession, dude. They're all there."

"Yeah, I know what whores are, Aloha. Why are there whores in Sonora is what I want to know."

"Every truck stop has them, dude. It's lonely out on the road. No one to talk to, family's a thousand miles away. No one to love. Sometimes, these guys are on the road for months at a time. It's only natural, Dowell."

Chapter 3

Tuesday 4:08am (E.S.T.)

When they arrived at the truck stop in Sonora, seven rigs, with their lights off and their engines running, sat in the back lot. The diesel pumps were quiet; two cars sat in front of the truck stop's restaurant.

Apocalypse Dowell looked through the restaurant's front windows and saw several customers eating early breakfasts and late dinners.

When they stepped into the restaurant the music stopped; the customers and waitresses all turned and stared at Mick Aloha and Apocalypse Dowell.

"Don't worry, Dowell," Mick Aloha whispered as they eased forward. "These are my people. They're not all stuck up like you."

Apocalypse Dowell and Mick Aloha walked to the counter without making any sudden moves. The country music started up again and the customers returned to their meals and conversations.

The lone waitress behind the counter ignored them.

Apocalypse Dowell glanced around without making eye contact with anyone. Eight red stools sat in front of the bar; four-top tables lined the outer walls. The restrooms were in the back. The place smelled of cigarettes and charred meat.

Mick Aloha pulled a dirty menu from behind the counter. "What're you gonna get, Dowell? An apple?"

"I don't think they have apples here, Aloha. Look, I don't think we're really welcome here."

"Dowell, I told you these are my kind of people. They just aren't used to hippies like you. They're good people. Give 'em a chance."

An announcement came through the P.A. system. "Roy, your shower's ready."

"I'm going to run for it, Aloha. You coming?"

"Calm down, dude. Here, take a look at the menu and find you something to eat."

Ten minutes later, they knew what they wanted but the waitress continued to ignore them.

When the waitress, who had red-rimmed glasses and fake blond hair, walked past them, Mick Aloha said, "Excuse me, miss?"

She didn't reply.

"Excuse me, ma'am? Lady? Woman? Excuse me, waitress? Can we get some service?"

Again she didn't reply.

Mick Aloha ran his fingers through his short brown hair. "Hey bitch, can we get some goddam service over here?"

The flying plates missed Mick Aloha's head by centimeters. He and Apocalypse Dowell ran out of the truck stop as seven big truckers and an angry waitress followed them.

They slipped through the darkness to the back parking lot, ran up to the closest truck, opened the passenger side door, and jumped inside.

The gun sure looked real.

The truck driver they had awoken pointed it at them, apparently trying to decide what to do. Mick Aloha slowly closed the truck's passenger door behind them.

"What in the hell are you doing in my truck?" the trucker asked. It appeared that he had been asleep on the floor in his truck, right where a passenger seat would have been if his truck had one.

"Sorry, sir," Apocalypse Dowell said. "We were..."

"Breaker breaker one nine," Mick Aloha interrupted. "This here's the Flyin' Hawaiian looking to talk to that trucker right in front of me, come back."

The trucker said, "This here's the Witch Doctor outta that Chi-town, go ahead."

"Mercy sakes there, Witch Doctor, we got some bears on our tails and were just looking for a place to lay low till the heat cools off, over."

The trucker lowered his gun and turned to see the seven truckers and waitress running through the parking lot, searching for the boys and swearing. Mick Aloha, Apocalypse Dowell, and the trucker watched them search the lot for several minutes before they walked back to the front of the truck stop.

"This here's the Witch Doctor, how's about you tell me what's going on before I end up with the bear chasing me across the country, over."

"Mercy sakes alive there, good buddy," Mick Aloha said. "We was just in there trying to get us some eats when those boys surrounded us and tried to take our money, over."

"And the woman?"

"She just wanted a big tip. But, the service wasn't good, over."

The trucker, who wore faded jeans and a light flannel shirt, stared at them and started laughing.

"Sorry we woke you up," Apocalypse Dowell said.

"Damn you, Dowell. Just when I was breaking through with my superior Truckerese, you have to interrupt. Don't you know when to keep quiet? You're not smarter than me, jackass."

"No, he's OK," the trucker said. "And, I was about to wake up, anyway. Where you boys headed?"

"California."

"Well, mercy sakes, good buddies, I'm heading on over to Shaky Side myself." The Witch Doctor started the engine. "Let's put four on the floor."

Chapter 4

Tuesday 4:42am (E.S.T.)

Mick Aloha and Apocalypse Dowell tried to make themselves comfortable on the truck's floor.

The trucker looked down at them from his seat. "Mercy sakes, good buddies, how ya'll doing down there?"

Mick Aloha said, "Well, it's not the type of accommodation I'm used to, because I have lots of disposable..."

"It's fine," Apocalypse Dowell said.

"Damn you, Dowell, don't interrupt me."

The trucker shook his head. "Aw, settle down. Now, why don't you boys tell me your stories? Mercy sakes, we got two thousand miles to go. Gotta start somewhere."

Mick Aloha sat up. "Well, I'm a superhero and this guy is a jackass. I have a secret killing move, the Big Boot. Once I've kicked my enemies' asses, I kick them in the face and that about does it. My style is a mixture of karate and professional wrestling. Oh, and my name, Mick Aloha, is derived from my wrestling persona of the same name."

"Mercy sakes, that sounds exciting, boy. You got any real powers? Like, can you fly or do lasers come out your eyes?"

"No, dude, nothing like that. But, I do have super strength and lots of disposable income. I guess I'm like Batman, just not gay."

"And how about you, slim?" The trucker glanced at Apocalypse Dowell.

Before Apocalypse Dowell could speak, Mick Aloha said, "Oh, this guy? You don't want to know about this guy. He's the laziest and most goddam boring person you'll ever meet. All he does is sleep, eat cereal, and try to steal my girlfriends. Oh, and he doesn't eat meat, either."

Apocalypse Dowell gave Mick Aloha a punch to the stomach. Mick Aloha retched and then hurried to put his work boots back on so he could start kicking.

The trucker stopped the melee by threatening to drop them off in Bonnieville, a small town they were passing at the time.

The trucker then turned up the country music on the radio. Mick Aloha and Apocalypse Dowell took the hint and stopped talking. Then, they fell asleep.

When Apocalypse Dowell awoke, the truck wasn't moving. The engine caused the truck to vibrate heavily, but there was no forward motion. When he looked up, he found they were in line for diesel at a small gas station. The sun was well above the horizon.

The trucker looked down at Apocalypse Dowell with a big smile on his face. "Cheapest diesel this side of the Alleghenies. And, that's sayin' a lot, boy."

"Where are we?"

"Bowling Green," the trucker replied. "Home of Western Kentucky University, home of the Hilltoppers. See boy, they got this big hill on campus and that's why they're called the Hilltoppers. They say you can tell how many years someone's been going to school there by the size of their calves. Hell, I don't know, but that's what they say."

"How long have we been sitting here?" Apocalypse Dowell asked. "How long have we been asleep?"

"Mercy sakes, two questions at once. You're like Alex Trebek, son. No wait, he just says answers. Anyway, you were asleep about two hours and we been a-sittin here for one of 'em."

"We've been waiting to get gas for an hour?" Apocalypse Dowell asked. Mick Aloha sat up, rubbing his eyes with one hand and blocking the sun with the other.

"Diesel, son, diesel. You know what'd happen if you put gas in a diesel engine? You want to know? Hell, anyway, yeah they got it cheap I told you and I'm not in no particular hurry to get out to California."

Mick Aloha said, "You're a truck driver and you're not in a hurry? What kind of truck driver are you?"

"An honest one," the trucker replied with a grin. "Anyway, I'm dropping off my load in Memphis tonight, so there ain't no use in hurrying."

Forty-five minutes later, they were back on I-65 with a full tank of diesel. Mick Aloha sat on the floor with an assortment of snacks he had purchased at the gas station. Apocalypse Dowell ate a candy bar. As he drove, the trucker ate fat-free potato chips.

"Dowell, I don't see how you can be a vegetarian and be so unhealthy," Mick Aloha said. "All you eat is candy bars. Don't you know chocolate is made with milk, and milk is made from cows?"

Apocalypse Dowell replied, "Milk comes from cows, you jackass..."

"Damn you, Dowell! Damn it, damn it. I was making a point." Mick Aloha's face turned red, but he couldn't stand up to attack Apocalypse Dowell because of the assortment of snacks resting on his lap.

"Damn you! Damn you, Dowell! Just wait till I finish eating, Dowell."

The trucker ignored them.

"Anyway, Aloha, you don't have to kill a cow to get milk from it. So, it's OK."

"It isn't natural, Dowell, drinking cow milk," Mick Aloha said. "Humans are the only animals that drink another animal's milk."

"Don't you drink milk and eat chocolate?"

"I eat chocolate, but I don't claim to be a hippy vegetarian, either, now do I? And, if you're a vegetarian, why do you wear leather? You're a hypocrite."

"Because I don't really care if animals die. I just don't want to eat them. Anyway, how the hell do you think you can call me unhealthy? You eat beef for every meal."

Mick Aloha took a bite of beef jerky and chewed. "Dowell, we're at the top of the food chain. If we weren't, other animals would eat us, so it's fair. And, don't worry about my health. Whenever I get a pain in my chest, I just beat my fist against my chest like this and it goes away."

Mick Aloha then beat himself in the chest three times.

"Mercy sakes, boys," the trucker interrupted. "You boys got any gum? Chewing or bubble will do."

They didn't have any gum.

"Gotta stop and get me some gum," the trucker said under his breath.

"I hear they have great gum down in Memphis," Mick Aloha said.

"Mercy sakes, is that so?" the trucker said. "I reckon I can wait till we get to Memphis. I wanted to stop over at Graceland and pay my respects, anyway. Good idea, ol' son."

The trucker went back to his potato chips and the road. They crossed the state-line and entered Tennessee.

"Mercy sakes, boys, they call it the Volunteer State, but I ain't never seen no one down here volunteering for anything. They get paid, just like we do, boys. It's a farce."

"So's bluegrass," Apocalypse Dowell said. "People everywhere think we're idiots because we don't know what color grass is."

"I seen real bluegrass," the trucker said. "And, I mean real. I don't mean this stuff they try to pass off as bluegrass, either. I'll tell you about it sometime."

When the trucker picked up his CB receiver, Mick Aloha leaned over to Apocalypse Dowell and said, "You got any money, dude? I can pay you back."

"What? You know I didn't have any money when we left. All I've got is the change I found on the road while we were walking."

"Damn it. I shouldn't have bought so much beef jerky. We have to get some money, Dowell."

They sat back and fell asleep.

Chapter 5

Tuesday 10:17am (C.S.T.)

They awoke to the sounds of the trucker on this CB.

"...then keep the dirty side down and the shiny side up. This is the Witch Doctor, over and out."

The boys sat up.

The trucker looked over and said, "Ohayou gozaimasu, boys. Learned that from a Japanese trucker. That's how they say good morning, ohayou gozaimasu. I like the way it sounds."

"Where are we, dude?"

"Mercy sakes, good buddy, were about 20 miles outside of that Memphis town."

An announcement on the radio caught their attention.

"...the wrestling capital of the world presents Get in on the Action! where you can get in on the action! M.V.W.F. Champion Punky Stratton will take on all comers. Entry fee is $20 and if you can last two minutes in the ring without getting pinned, you win ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS! Tonight, tonight, tonight, wrestling, wrestling, wrestling, at the Man Pants Arena. Doors open at seven! Ten dollars buys the whole seat, but you'll only need the edge!"

"Give me twenty dollars, Dowell."

"I don't have twenty dollars. And, if I did, I wouldn't give it to you so you could go get your ass kicked."

"Damn you, Dowell. Give me twenty dollars."

"I told you, I don't have twenty dollars."

"I need twenty dollars."

The trucker continued to look at the road as he said, "You wanna wrastle, huh? You any count?"

"I'm the best that's ever been. There's only one Mick Aloha, and that's me."

"You gonna wrastle in that Hawaiian shirt? Mercy sakes, I don't know how well that'll go over here in Memphis, son."

"No, dude, I have several wrestling personas, all tailored to different crowd needs. I usually just use Mick Aloha for superhero work and local wrestling matches. Tonight, I think the King Cobra's going to have to strike."

"Oh, God," Apocalypse Dowell said. "I forgot about the King Cobra. Where're you going to get a get-up?"

Mick Aloha rubbed his stubbly chin and thought.

The trucker said, "Mercy sakes alive, boys, you're welcome to anything you can find in the truck."

"What're we hauling?" Apocalypse Dowell asked.

"Dynamite."

"Shit."

"Yeah, I mean up here in the cab," the Witch Doctor said. "You can't help yourself to the dynamite, of course."

As Mick Aloha started digging through the junk in the back of the cab, Apocalypse Dowell asked, "Why are you hauling dynamite?"

"Mercy sakes, how else is it gonna get around?"

"Touche."

The Witch Doctor said, "Touche, indeed, ol' son."

Mick Aloha emerged from the back of the cab with a t-shirt that read "Truck you," camouflage shorts, and a camouflage hunter's mask. He undressed, put all of the gear on, and put Apocalypse Dowell in a headlock. Apocalypse Dowell gave him a Seven Plagues Punch and the trucker yelled at them until they broke it up.

"The King Cobra's back, Dowell."

"Yeah, I see that. Why are you wearing a hunter's mask?"

"To protect my secret identity, fool. I can't go around having everyone know Mick Aloha and the King Cobra are the same person."

Apocalypse Dowell asked, "What are hunters masks for, anyway, Aloha? Just to camouflage your face?"

"No, fool, it's because animals have super senses. They can smell your breath from miles away. It stops that. You'd know that if you killed animals like I do, wussy."

"Mercy sakes, boy," the trucker interrupted. "I forgot all about that mask. Looks like you got you quite a get-up there. I'll float you the twenty if you promise to pay me a hundred if you win."

"Deal," Mick Aloha said. "Oh, as I am now the King Cobra and not Mick Aloha, please refer to me as such. And, I have a new catchphrase. Tell me what you think. The King Cobra: I strike more than the Teamsters."

"Yeah, I wouldn't say that out loud, anywhere, ever again," Apocalypse Dowell said.

"Welcome to this Memphis town," the Witch Doctor said, as they passed a sign welcoming them to Memphis.

As they made their way through the mid-day traffic on I-40 west, Mick Aloha started staring at the floor and breathing heavily. The trucker looked over at Apocalypse Dowell, who shrugged.

"Mercy sakes, there, you all right?" the Witch Doctor asked.

Mick Aloha didn't respond.

"Aloha, you all right?"

Without looking up from the floor, Mick Aloha said in a low voice, "Damn you Dowell, it's King Cobra. And, yes, I'm fine. I'm getting prepared to wrestle tonight. In my mind, I'm visualizing destroying Punky Stratton. I can't visualize it if you keep talking to me. See, Dowell, you can do anything if you can just see it in your mind. You might even be able to stop being such a wuss if you could see yourself as a tough guy."

"OK, Aloha, we'll leave you alone."

"Damn you, Dowell. King Cobra. King Fucking Cobra."

The Witch Doctor unloaded his cargo in Memphis and then reloaded, taking the whole afternoon. While they waited, Apocalypse Dowell read an American history book he had found in the truck and the King Cobra mentally prepared for the evening.

The trucker dropped them off at the Man Pants Memphis Arena at 6:30. Although the King Cobra had asked him to drop them off in the parking lot, the Witch Doctor insisted on driving them right up to the front entrance. The crowd awaiting the opening of the gates watched as they exited the truck. Some of the people in the crowd laughed.

"Now, y'all be good and don't stay out too late," the Witch Doctor said as Mick Aloha slammed the passenger-side door closed. And then through the open window he said: "I'll be back here at ten to pick you up, so be here. Don't run off with any strangers, now, OK?"

The boys nodded and got in line as the truck pulled away.

Apocalypse Dowell asked, "Do you think well ever see him again?"

"Yeah, I do," the King Cobra replied. "I have his twenty bucks."

"You know, if you lose and can't pay him back, he might not let us ride anymore."

"Lose? Didn't I tell you I visualized a victory, Dowell? Don't worry about me. I'm just afraid the crowd here might kill you while I'm up there kicking ass. They'll see me kicking ass and think, Hey, I wouldn't mind kicking some ass, too. Then, they'll look around for the first hippy they can find and well, that'll be you."

As the King Cobra finished speaking, the line started moving. When they reached the gate, they found that they had to pay to enter. The King Cobra tried to do the negotiating.

"I'm going to wrestle, tonight," he said to the man at the gate. "And, this is my manager. I have the twenty dollars to wrestle."

The gatekeeper shook his head. "That's fine, but you have to pay to get in to watch the wrestling. There's no way for me to know if you're going to really wrestle or not. If I let people in because they were carrying twenty dollars and wearing a hunting mask, I'd have to let in half of the crowd."

The people in line behind the boys started pushing forward and swearing.

"Do you know who I am?" the King Cobra asked. "I'm the King Cobra. The King Fucking Cobra. And, I strike more than the Teamsters."

The Teamsters in the crowd who chased Apocalypse Dowell and the King Cobra around the arena gave up after a half mile. Apocalypse Dowell assumed they had given up not because they were tired, but because they didn't want to miss the beginning of the event.

The King Cobra and Apocalypse Dowell stood in the service parking lot, trying to think of what to do, when the King Cobra spotted something.

"Look, Dowell." The King Cobra pointed to a far corner of the arena, where two men stood. "Let's go check it out."

They approached the men, staying out of the light cast by the parking lot lights. When they got closer, they realized the men were security guards, guarding a special entrance.

"Let's just hang out here for a few minutes and see if anyone comes through that entrance," the King Cobra said.

Apocalypse Dowell nodded and they both sat down on the concrete.

As they waited, a parade of limousines arrived. Wrestlers started exiting the limousines.

They were wrestlers. They were real wrestlers. They got paid to wrestle. They had no other jobs.

The King Cobra's face lit up.

Apocalypse Dowell shook the King Cobra. "Aloha, come on, man. We have to get in there. Don't freak out on me now."

The glaze left Mick Aloha's eyes. "Damn you, Dowell. It's King Cobra."

"OK, King Cobra. What are we going to do?"

"Dude, don't worry. I saw this on a Mentos commercial once."

Punky Stratton's signature white limousine arrived. As he stepped out of the passenger side door in the back of his limo, the King Cobra and Apocalypse Dowell approached the driver's side back door. They squatted outside the door under the window, waiting for Punky's entourage of girls and bodyguards to exit. When they had all stepped out of the limousine, the King Cobra and Apocalypse Dowell entered the limousine, crawled across the seats, and exited right behind the last of Punky's entourage.

They tried to look tough and upset. The King Cobra held his arms out to his side as he walked and flexed the muscles in his neck, emulating his namesake. Punky's entourage never looked back. Within seconds, they were inside the arena and had broken away from the group.

A rowdy crowd filled the arena that evening. The boys were surrounded by big belt buckles, beer, wrestling t-shirts, and mullets. Apocalypse Dowell buttoned his flannel shirt and tucked it into his jeans to try to fit in. His Vans still gave him away, though.

The King Cobra, with his hunting mask and trucking shirt, fit in perfectly. Some of the guys even gave him a thumbs-up as they passed.

When the roar from the crowd signaled the beginning of the evening, the boys made their way from the walkway running along the perimeter of the arena to the lower level. They wanted to be close to the action.

There were no empty seats in the whole place, so the King Cobra and Mick Aloha stood in a lower walkway, hoping someone would get drunk, pass out, and leave an empty seat.

The lights went out. Fire shot from the regulation wrestling ring's posts in the middle of the arena.

The announcer's voice boomed throughout the place. "Ladies and Gentlemen! Memphis Valley Wrestling Federation in association with Tucker's Trucks and the Coffee Shot present intense wrestling competition! Ladies and Gentlemen, let me present to you the president and CEO of M.V.W.F., Jake Bastion."

The crowd booed as Jake Bastion, who wore an expensive suit, approached the ring. His hair was dark and slicked back. He pointed at the crowd and stepped into the ring. When he began to speak, the noise in the arena drowned him out so that he had to wait for the decibel level to drop.

The King Cobra's face turned red. "Damn it, Dowell. I hate that son of a bitch. I might have to run up there right now."

The noise increased.

Apocalypse Dowell screamed, "If you go in there now, you won't get any money. And, you might get sued!"

"Don't you worry, Dowell." "I've read about law in the newspaper and I have plenty of disposable income, so I can afford a good lawyer. I should take that goddam bastard out."

Apocalypse Dowell gave up, but before the King Cobra could go after the president and CEO of M.V.W.F., the noise died down and Jake Bastion began to speak.

"Hello, idiots." Jake Bastion smiled. The boos came again, and Jake Bastion paused once more. Then, he continued, "No offense, really. I just feel that anyone stupid enough to support...Punky Stratton..."

The crowd went crazy. People stood on their seats and cheered when they heard Punky's name. Chants of "Punky! Punky!" began around the arena.

"Idiots!"

More boos followed.

"So, I checked with my people, and that lowlife...Punky Stratton...is already in the building. Now, maybe you idiots don't know this, but I'm a bit of a wrestler myself, and I think I can prove once and for all that I'm the best wrestler the world has ever known!"

The crowd hated him even more.

The King Cobra said, "Damn it, Dowell, I have no love for Punky Stratton, and actually I plan to kick his ass tonight and take his money, but that sombitch has no right calling him out like this. Damn it, damn it."

"So, if...Punky Stratton...thinks he's man enough, he'll come out here...right now...in Man Pants Memphis Arena...and take me on in a no- holds-barred match. If he wins, he's the undisputed M.V.W.F. champion and he gets a lifetime contract with M.V.W.F. If I win...he walks out of here tonight and never, ever steps into a wrestling ring again..."

The security guards who surrounded the ring held back several fans who tried to rush it.

Apocalypse Dowell held back the King Cobra, who kept repeating, "Goddam silver tongued bastard. Goddam silver tongued bastard."

Sweat poured from Jake Bastion's face. He loosened his silk tie and threw it to the crowd. They threw it back into the ring. He removed the dark jacket from his Italian suit and tossed it to the scorers' table. Jake then loosened the top two buttons on his white oxford shirt, ran his fingers through his hair, and flexed his biceps.

"So, Punky Stratton, or should I say, Chunky Satin? If you think you're man enough, come on out here for your last wrestling match...ever!"

The crowd cheered, anticipating Punky's arrival and the demise of Jake Bastion. Jake walked around the ring, his round eyes anticipating an attack. It didn't come; Punky didn't show.

"It looks like Punky Stratton's a coward after all!" As the crowd booed and threw paper cups at him, he stepped out of the ring and made his way out of the arena.

The announcer came back on, introducing the first event, which involved some minor wrestlers that the King Cobra and Apocalypse Dowell didn't care about. They leaned on the metal rail that ran in front of them, watching the wrestling and waiting for the arrival of Punky Stratton and the King Cobra's chance to break him.

The third match starred the up and coming wrestlers Ratchet Douglas and Tony "Toolbox" Tungsten. Apocalypse Dowell enjoyed the match without looking over to let the King Cobra know. He had always made fun of Mick Aloha for watching wrestling and had never understood the soap operaesque entertainment quality it held until that evening. As Tony Tungsten held Ratchet Douglas over his head, a video came on the Jumbotron. It showed Punky Stratton tied to a conveyor belt, which was slowly approaching a spinning circular saw.

The crowd was silent.

Tony put Ratchet down and they ran out of the arena together. Cameras followed them and other wrestlers as they all tried to find Punky Stratton.

As the wrestlers searched frantically for the champ, Punky continued to struggle against the ropes on the Jumbotron.

He looked into the stationary camera and said, "Jake Bastion did this to me. If I don't make it out of this alive, kill him!"

The crowd booed when they heard Jake Bastion's name, and cheered when they heard the word kill. Punky's blond mullet shook from side to side as he struggled harder against the ropes.

Then he said his catchphrase, which the crowd said along with him, "Ain't nothin' gonna hold me down!" The ropes snapped and Punky was free. Rage filled his eyes as he looked into the camera and said, "Jake Bastion, here I come."

The King Cobra jumped into the air screaming and pumping his fists. He then started the chant, "Kill Bastion! Kill Bastion!" which spread throughout the arena. Excited by his chant starting abilities, he then started the chant, "King Cobra! King Cobra!" It spread as well. He was priming the crowd. They were ready for the King Cobra.

Punky Stratton ran down the main aisle and into the ring. He stood alone in the middle of the ring, wearing a chartreuse jumpsuit and a white feather boa. His manager threw him his Elvis Death Rock sunglasses and when he put them on, the crowd screamed even louder.

One of the ringside assistants handed him a microphone.

Punky looked down at the crowd, paused, and said, "How y'all doing, Memphis?"

The crowd cheered.

"I had a bit of a close call back there, and it don't take a rocket scientist to figure out who done it, now does it?"

"No!" the crowd responded.

"When I was lying on that conveyor belt, I thought that might be the end. I thought Ol' Jake might have finally done me in. But let me tell y'all something, and Jake Bastion if you're listening this is for you, too. There ain't nothin gonna hold me down! So, Jake Bastard. Mister C...E...O. Mister Businessman. You had your chance, and you blew it. Now, I want my chance. Right now. Me and you. In...the cage!"

A metal cage started descending from the ceiling.

The King Cobra slapped Apocalypse Dowell on the arm and said, "Dude, dude, dude. It's the cage." The whites of the King Cobra's eyes grew as he watched the cage lower and stop two meters above the ring.

The Jumbotron lit up with a close-up of Jake Bastion's face.

"Junky Van Patton," Jake Bastion said over the boos. "I'd love to join you, and show you how a real man wrestles, but first there's the issue of the contract you signed for tonight's event in...Memphis, Tennessee. You said you'd take all comers who paid twenty dollars. Well, if I went in there right now and took you out, you wouldn't be able to fulfill your contract. So, I think you should take all comers right now. And, if you survive, I'll get in the cage with you and finish...you...off!"

Punky looked at the Jumbotron. "You know what Bastion, with all the lies and deceits you pull, you got this one right. Now, if you came out here right now, I wouldn't even break out a sweat mopping the floor with you. But, I want to give the folks a good show, so why don't I let them tire me out a bit so you have a fair chance right here in...Memphis, Tennessee!"

The crowd went crazy. A line formed beside the ring, and by the time the King Cobra had put his mask back on and made the trip to the ring, he was eighth in line. Apocalypse Dowell stood beside him.

The first person in line paid his money, signed a waiver, and lasted twelve seconds in the ring with Punky-one minute and forty-eight seconds short of the two-minute requirement. Punky tossed him into the scorers' table and asked for the next contestant.

In quick succession, the next six contestants stood in the ring with Punky Stratton, and they all ended up on the scorers' table beside the ring. Watching the destruction, the King Cobra clenched his fists and gritted his teeth in preparation for the upcoming battle.

As the King Cobra began his ascent into the ring, the Jumbotron lit up again. This time Ninja Bob, Punky Stratton's archenemy, appeared on the screen.

Supposedly, Ninja Bob had been born in a small town in Indiana. During the summer of his fifth year, his family had driven to Disney World in Florida. On their third day there they lost little Bob in Epcot Center. A Japanese family found him and took him in as one of their own, bought him a fake passport, and took him back to Kyoto, Japan, where Ninja Bob had been taught the ninja arts until returning to America and joining the M.V.W.F. at the age of 22.

Recently, however, he had been back in Japan honing his ninja skills and his appearance on the screen came as a complete surprise to the crowd.

Ninja Bob smiled. "Kon ban wa, Panki Suturaton. Genki desuka, you lousy son of a bitch? Unless you cain't tell from seein' me here, I'm back in the U.S. I was back in my homeland for a year and a half, learning all of the secrets of the Far East..."

Punky grabbed a microphone from an assistant who wore a purple tuxedo. "Did you learn any ancient Chinese secrets? I got this stain I just can't get out."

"No, you dumbass. I's in Japan, not China. Anyway, I'm back, just to kick your ass!"

The crowd was silent.

"I don't care if you're a ninja, a samurai, or if you got electricity shootin' out your fingers and you wear a funny hat. Don't matter to me cause...there ain't nothin gonna hold me down."

The Jumbotron went black.

Punky threw the microphone down and watched as Ninja Bob ran down the main aisle, wearing a ninja outfit.

When Ninja Bob reached the ring and began to climb up, a hand grabbed his leg and pulled him back down.

"No, you don't," the King Cobra said through his camouflage hunting mask. "You're not going to ruin this for me."

The King Cobra then threw Ninja Bob to the floor. Ninja Bob got up quickly and tried to karate kick the King Cobra, who dropped to the floor, rolled under the announcers' table, and came out on the other side with an aluminum chair.

Ninja Bob managed to say, "That ain't one of the..." before he lost consciousness. The King Cobra threw the chair down on top of the collapsed Ninja Bob as security guards hovered around them.

Punky motioned for the King Cobra to step into the ring and then asked for another microphone.

Punky said, "What's your name?"

"I'm the King Cobra, and I strike..."

"Well, King Cobra, I'd like to thank you for taking care of my light work. I just want you to know you've always got a friend in Punky Stratton."

"Thanks, Punky." The King Cobra crumbled up his twenty dollar bill, threw it in Punky's face, and gave Punky the Big Boot to the side of the head. Punky dropped to the mat.

The crowd went ballistic. Fights broke out throughout the arena, and the people who had been waiting in line behind the King Cobra joined forces and attacked him.

As the King Cobra handled the first guy, a second approached from behind. He prepared to put the King Cobra in a headlock, but then fell to the mat after Apocalypse Dowell gave him a Seven Plagues Punch to the back.

The King Cobra and Apocalypse Dowell stood back to back and kicked the asses of all takers. People from the crowd swarmed in, trying to take shots at them, but they were too much for their untrained competitors.

Then the real wrestlers started stepping into the ring. Noticing this, the King Cobra told Apocalypse Dowell to grab the microphone. Apocalypse Dowell picked up the mic and tossed it to the King Cobra.

When the King Cobra cleared his throat into the microphone, the fighting across the arena stopped and the crowd went silent.

He said, "Hello Memphis, Tennessee. My name's the King Cobra, and I have lots of disposable income. Now, I heard on the radio and in this arena tonight that if I paid twenty dollars and lasted two minutes with Punky Stratton, I'd get one thousand dollars. Now, I respect Punky Stratton and all that he's done for wrestling and the M.V.W.F. But, I also respect money. I paid my twenty dollars, and I knocked Punky Stratton out. I think someone owes me a thousand dollars."

The crowd cheered, and some chanted, "Pay up! Pay up! Pay up!"

The Jumbotron lit up and Jake Bastion's face once again filled the screen. "Now, listen up you idiots!"

The crowd booed.

"I don't know who you are, King Cobra. And, I don't know who you think you are, coming into my wrestling match and attacking my wrestlers, but you're right. I had a deal, and I plan to hold up that deal, on one condition..."

The King Cobra held up his right hand and said, "Now let me tell you something, Jake Bastion. I didn't come all the way down here, to Memphis, Tennessee, to have you make promises and lie to me. What are you, a commie? That would explain the way you run your company. There'll be no conditions, because I earned that money fair and square. There's only one King Cobra."

The crowd went crazy, and signs appeared throughout the arena that read "King Cobra! King Cobra!" A quick fan who sat close to the ring held up a sign that read "The King Cobra: there's only one." The King Cobra pointed at him and smiled, then he ran around the ring pumping up the crowd as Apocalypse Dowell stood in the middle of the ring beside the unconscious Punky Stratton.

Jake Bastion said, "Say what you want, but I'm President and C.E.O. of M.V.W.F. and I make the rules." The camera panned out to show a black limousine behind Jake Bastion.

He held ten one hundred dollar bills up to the camera and said, "Here's your money, idiot. You can have it, but you'll have to come and get it." Jake Bastion then jumped into his limousine, followed by three bodyguards, and the limousine drove away.

The King Cobra and Apocalypse Dowell jumped out of the ring and ran up the main aisle. They cleared the main gate and ran into the dark parking lot where they saw the limousine. By the time they reached the middle of the lot, the limousine had sped out of sight.

A metallic rumble grew behind them, and then the sound of a horn shook their souls. They turned to see a purple semi-truck approaching them. When it stopped, the trucker put his head out the window and said, "Mercy sakes, that's some good timing, ain't it?"

The King Cobra and Apocalypse Dowell jumped in through the passenger door and the King Cobra said, "You up for a chase?"

Two narrow wrinkles appeared between the Witch Doctor's eyebrows and he asked, "Who we chasing?"

"Jake Bastion."

"Mercy sakes, that arrogant son of a bitch? Which way?"

The King Cobra said, "I think he turned right up there. He's in a limo."

The trucker stepped on the accelerator and made the right turn without hitting the brakes. They spotted the limousine far ahead of them, and watched as it made a left turn to hit the interstate.

Chapter 6

Tuesday 10:06pm (C.S.T.)

After the King Cobra had explained the situation, the Witch Doctor got on his CB.

"Breaker, breaker one nine, this here's the Witch Doctor outta that Chi-town on I-40 west, just past the state border. I'm looking for westbounders, over."

The CB remained silent for several seconds before the replies started coming in.

"Mercy sakes Witch Doctor, this is the Soul Rider, you gotta a westbounder, go ahead."

Ten replies came in over the next three minutes. As the King Cobra and Apocalypse Dowell tried to see the limousine through the windshield, the Witch Doctor got back on the air.

"Mercy sakes, boys, it's good to hear your voices. We got a bit of a situation with a runaway stretch job, if anyone has an eyeball come back."

The Witch Doctor easily weaved through the light traffic, but they still couldn't see the limousine.

"Mercy sakes, mercy sakes, make no mistake this here's the Fly Swatter and I got an eyeball on that stretch job, over."

The Witch Doctor picked up the receiver. "That's good news, that's good news. All westbounders, let's drop it on down to one-four."

The trucker reached over and changed the setting on his CB from "19" to "14."

"Breaker, breaker one four, this here's the Witch Doctor. The stretch job in question contains a one Jake Bastion, president and C.E.O. of the M.V.W.F. He has something that don't belong to him, and I'm looking to have an eyeball. Over."

Several truckers replied, simply saying, "Eyeball, check."

The Fly Swatter came on and said he would slow down the limousine. Two minutes later, the Witch Doctor and the boys had a visual.

The King Cobra pressed his face against the windshield. "There's that no good son of a bitch. Just pull up beside him and I'll jump out."

"Woo, boy, that'd be exciting to see, but there ain't gonna be no need in that. See, we're gonna stop the traffic on this here interstate."

The Witch Doctor picked up the receiver and said, "Breaker, breaker one-four. This here's the Witch Doctor, ready to go for eyeball. Mercy sakes, let's wait a minute, boys, I got a bit of a funny feeling. If there's static everyone take it up to one-six. Repeat, if we get static take it up to one six. Nice work so far Fly Swatter, how's the front door looking?"

"Clean and green to Abilene," the Fly Swatter replied.

A voice came on the CB. "Hello idiots."

"Identify yourself, breaker."

"I am Jake Bastion, the President and C.E.O. of M.V.W.F., and I suggest you all back off and go find some truck stop whores to diddle before you get yourselves in trouble. Over, idiots."

By this time, trucks surrounded the limousine on all sides and blocked all traffic from passing. The Fly Swatter, who was in front of the limousine, slowed down gradually.

"Mercy sakes, boys, Jake Bastion's got his ears on. The mouth you got on you, Bastion," the Witch Doctor said. "We'll be happy to let you be, once a matter of green is settled. You owe..."

The trucker leaned over to the King Cobra and said, "Damn it, what's your name, now?" The King Cobra told him.

"You owe the King Cobra a thousand green, and we aim to get it."

Jake Bastion replied, "I don't owe him a thing. The agreement was to last two minutes in the ring with Punky Stratton, and he didn't last two minutes now, did he? They were only in the ring together a few seconds, and that isn't good for business."

The CB went silent. The Witch Doctor tried to reply, but couldn't.

"Something wrong with the CB?" Apocalypse Dowell asked.

"No, son, he's keyin' the mic. See, he's just holding down the button on his mic, and that stops us from being able to talk on the channel. I'm taking her up to one-six."

On channel sixteen, the Witch Doctor made contact with all of the truckers and coordinated the stop. Minutes later, the ten trucks surrounding the limousine came to a complete stop, block