Chapter 10: Frijole Delight

The back door to the darkened kitchen opened, a hand reached into the room, flipped the switch on the wall, and the room was bathed in 100 watt light. Tommy, jacket in hand, entered, his filthy tennis shoes still squishing with every step and leaving tracks on the floor. All was quiet. The rest of the family had gone to bed. Tommy noticed the container of frijole delight on the kitchen table. He walked over, picked up the note and reread it. It made him think of Linda and Stretch and the experience of staring up at the night sky began to fade from his mind. Looking up from the note, Tommy noticed a message taped to the refrigerator door. FEED THE DOG.
“I’m sorry, Watson,” Tommy said remorsefully to the refrigerator. “I forgot to feed you earlier and you’re probably starving.” He quickly pulled a can of dog food down from the cupboard and once again opened it at both ends.
In the backyard, a ten foot long, saucer-shaped spacecraft descended with the putt-putting noise of an old Model T. The saucer hovered over the lawn as three spindly legs extended from the craft with a popping sound. As the saucer set down in the grass, a hatch opened and a ladder extended from the bottom of the ship. A smallish, potato-shaped alien climbed down the ladder and stepped out from the underside of the craft. He wore cowboy boots that seemed out of place on his spindly legs, two holsters containing what looked like laser pistols, and a ten gallon hat. A five-sided star with the word DORK etched into it embellished the front of the hat. Watson, seemingly oblivious to the arrival of the small spaceship, was busy relieving himself on a convenient flower. The alien noticed the activities of the cocker spaniel. “Say, boy,” said the alien, in a high-pitched, nasal twang. “That ain’t such a bad idea. It’s a long way from Mars.” The potato-shaped alien proceeded to relieve himself on the same flower that Watson had bespoiled. The plant immediately shriveled up.
Tommy exited the back door with the can of dog food in his hand. He positioned himself over Watson’s bowl. “Pilot to bombardier. Pilot to bombard…“ Tommy stood transfixed as he noticed the spacecraft and the alien. The dog food slid unnoticed from the can and splatted on the concrete, completely missing the bowl. “Holy cow!” exclaimed Tommy in amazement.
The alien, having finished destroying the plant, approached Tommy and gave him what appeared to be a smile. “Shucks, boy,” he said. “There ain’t no need to worship me. Ah’m jest a regular feller like you all. Course, my feet ain’t as slimy as yourn.”
Tommy stared down at his mud-covered feet.
“How’s about we go inside fer a little conversation?” asked the alien.
“You aren’t…you aren’t going to zap me, are you?” asked Tommy in an uncertain voice.
The alien looked Tommy over carefully. “Now that depends,” he said seriously. “Are you a good guy or a bad guy?”
“I’m a good guy! I’m a good guy!” responded Tommy quickly.
“Ah’m mighty glad to hear that,” replied the alien. “Now what say we mosey on inside and have ourselves a nice, friendly chat?”
The alien climbed the steps to the back porch and both he and Tommy went through the back door and into the kitchen, Tommy leading the way with his shoes squishing, and the alien following after. In the kitchen, Tommy stared nervously at the potato-shaped creature.
“Zon’s the name. Sheriff Zon,” said the alien. “What’s yer handle?”
“Me? Tommy. Tommy Dinkle”
Sheriff Zon stared at Tommy seriously. “Listen, boy,” he said. “We got a major problem here. Seems as though a Rigellian shapeshifter done busted outta a detention center on Mars. He up and et two guards and then stole a quarantined ship full a nasty critters like brain suckers and dongoloids that was scheduled fer deverminization.
“So?” interjected Tommy, still nervous. “What does that have to do with me?”
“That there’s the problem, son,” continued the alien. “Ah tracked this here critter to where he crash-landed not far from yer town, and ah’m gonna need yer help to track him down. But don’ chew worry none cause there’s a ré-ward.”
“I don’t understand,” said Tommy, beginning to be somewhat less nervous. “Why can’t you just go get him yourself?”
“Cause in case you ain’t noticed, ah look a mite different than most folks round these parts,” said the sheriff. “But a feller like you jest oughta be able ta wander about without too many folks a staring away at him. Sides, this here shapeshifter knows me. All you gotta do is find out what he looks like an ah’ll take care a the rest.” Sheriff Zon patted his laser guns suggestively. “What say, boy?” said the alien.
“I don’t know,” said Tommy. “I’ve got a lot of problems of my own right now.”
“You all er gonta have mighty big problems round here iffen we don’t latch onto that there shapeshifter in a real hurry. He’s got a bad habit a tearin folks up an it’s right hard ta tell jest who he is cause he kin take the shape a most any livin thing.”
“This thing sounds like a guy I know at school,” said Tommy.
“Iffen you all work with me it’ll give you the chance ta become a DORK,” said the alien.
“What’s a DORK?” asked Tommy.
Sheriff Zon replied enthusiastically, “A DORK is a detector of renegade killers–like me. Ah track em down an dispose of the nasty things. It’s a mite risky but the pay is real good.”
“It sounds dangerous,” said Tommy uncertainly.
“Ah knew you’d like it,” responded the alien. “Well, iffen yer goin ta be a DORK, you’ll be needin a kit.” A medium-sized black bag floated down out of the saucer toward the back door to the house. The door opened apparently of its own accord and the black bag floated into the kitchen and came to rest on the kitchen table next to the frijole delight. The bag opened by itself.
“This here’s yer basic DORK kit,” said Zon. He lifted a pair of huge, nerdy spectacles from the bag and placed them on the table. “Now the only way ta get a shapeshifter ta display his true form is ta get him ta show some kinda violent emotion. Iffen ya cain’t get him ta do that then ya gotta use these here detectacles. Ya jest press this here little button right here an ya kin see his true shape iffen you all er lookin at him.”
Tommy put on the detectacles. They were similar to Fishface’s coke bottle glasses, only much larger. With the glasses on, Tommy’s eyes looked huge. Zon took a large belt with a big, bright pink dial on it out of the bag and handed it to Tommy.
“Next ya gotcher grav belt. Ya jest put it on n twist the dial ta reduce yer weight.”
Tommy put on the grav belt and gave the dial a half twist. The bright pink dial began to glow. He hopped gently and sailed three feet into the air. “All right!” he shouted. He knew he could use this device. Tommy landed and gave the dial another twist. He hopped again but this time he smacked his head on the kitchen ceiling with a hollow thump and bounced back down to the floor.
“Real fun, ain’t it?” said Sheriff Zon.
Tommy rubbed his head. At this point Zon and Tommy were interrupted by the buzzing of a pesky fly which had entered the open back door. Suddenly, a long, sticky tongue shot out of Zon’s mouth, nabbed the insect, and in a flash the tongue with the doomed fly attached were back in Zon’s mouth. Tommy could only stare in disbelief at what had just occurred. “Mighty tasty,” said Sheriff Zon, smacking his rubbery lips. “Ah hope he waren’t no personal friend of yourn.”
“No,” replied Tommy, shaking his head slowly in disbelief.
Sheriff Zon pulled a holster and a laser gun from the bag. “This here is yer basic blaster,” he continued. “It packs a fair sized wallop.”
“Wow!” said Tommy. “A laser gun. Can I try it?” Tommy grabbed the gun, pointed the weapon through the open kitchen door at the silhouette of a tree in the Horsehide backyard and pulled the trigger. A beam of light shot from the pistol, striking the upper trunk of the tree over the back fence. Flames and chunks of wood flew from the point of impact and the tree toppled over.
“See what ah mean?” said the Sheriff. “It’s mighty handy in a pinch.”
In the sloppily kept master bedroom, Amanda Horsehide lay next to her husband, who was snoring loudly. The crash of the falling tree in the Horsehide backyard had awakened her. She reached up from the bed, switched on a light and began to shake her husband. “Herbert! Wake up!”
“What is it?” her husband asked groggily.
“There’s something going on out there.”
“I don’t hear anything. Turn out the light.”
“Herbert! There’s something happening in the backyard. Go see what it is.”
“You go see. You heard it, not me.” He rolled over. “Good night.”
“You, men. You’re all alike.” Amanda sat up and pulled on her pink slippers. Then she stood up, grabbed her nearby robe, pulled it on and, hunkering down to make herself less visible, skulked out of the bedroom door.
In the Dinkle kitchen, Zon reached into the black bag on the kitchen table, pulled out a large pink daisy and handed it to Tommy. “Careful with this one, boy.”
“A flower?” Tommy asked.
“This here’s the big one. You all er lookin at a water activated space bomb. One drop a any kinda liquid on that thing and kablooey. Jest don’t be anywheres near her when she blows.”
“One drop, huh? Maybe I…” Tommy tried to hand the space bomb back to Zon, but he refused to take it.
“Put her on, boy. She may come in handy.”
Tommy reluctantly placed the large, pink flower on his shirt. It stuck in place.
Amanda Horsehide slinked out of the back door of her house. She approached the still smoldering tree cautiously and then peered over the fence. Amanda gasped in amazement as she saw the saucer. Then she laboriously heaved herself over the fence to investigate further.
Inside the kitchen, Zon spied the brightly decorated container on the table. “Say,” he said. “I ain’t chowed down in quite a spell, boy.” He motioned to the container. “This here wouldn’t happen to be some real earth grub, would it?”
“It’s just some beans,” said Tommy.
“Mind if I dig in?” asked the sheriff.
“Be my guest.”
Zon extended his hand toward a kitchen drawer. The drawer slid open and a spoon floated up and over to Zon, who picked it out of the air.
“How do you do that?” asked Tommy, highly impressed.
“Nothin to it, son,” replied Zon. “Show you how soon as I finish off this here bowl a goodies.” Sheriff Zon took a huge spoonful of the frijole delight and shoved it into his mouth. He chewed it once, then swallowed. “Aah, delicious,” he said, relishing the feast. Then a strange look came over Zon’s face. He burped and a small, purple cloud of smoke issued from his mouth. Zon grabbed at his stomach. “This here native food ain’t settin none too well with me. Ooh!” A cloud of purple smoke began to squirt from Zon’s hind side. He started to run around the kitchen table, groaning loudly, and then sprinted out the kitchen door toward his saucer.
Amanda Horsehide, investigating the saucer, suddenly saw the potato-shaped alien with purple smoke streaming from his tail-end bearing down on her. “Outta mah way!” shouted Zon.
As Sheriff Zon dashed up the steps into his saucer, Amanda Horsehide screamed and then vaulted headlong over the back fence. She landed face-first in the muddy flower bed. Once again she looked up from the muck and moaned.
The ladder ascended and the saucer took off with a putt-putting sound. Purple smoke poured from the underside of the spacecraft as it soared up and over the Dinkle house.
The form of Officer Down stood in the middle of the street and watched grim-faced as the spacecraft streaked overhead and disappeared into the night.