The Hook
(a Wandering KoalaTM tale)
by Jeff Thomason
Smashwords Edition
All names, characters, and places are fictional. Any resemblance to real people—either living or dead—or places is purely coincidental. Wandering Koala, Kyle, Brent, René, Professor Rufus, Edgar, and other prominent characters, names, and places are trademarks of Jeff Thomason. All rights reserved.
www.WanderingKoala.com
©Copyright 2010 Jeff Thomason
The Video Game Market began with Pong. True, it wasn’t the first game made, but it was the first to succeed commercially. A man named Allan Alcorn created it for Atari using ping-pong as his model. The game was pretty simple. Two bars, one on each side of the screen, represented paddles. Each player would move his bar up or down to deflect a small shape representing the ball, which was constantly moving in a straight line, deflecting off the paddles and walls at precise angles. The goal was to knock the ball past your opponent’s paddle, just like in ping-pong. Atari first released Pong as an arcade game in 1972, and later as a home version sold exclusively thru Sears for Christmas 1975. It was a big hit and inspired others to get into the game. (Get it? Get into the game?)
Soon after, Atari released the Atari 2600. It was different than other video games at the time, because it was a gaming console that used removable cartridges instead of having only one game built in so a player could use the same hardware to play many games instead of having to buy a whole new piece of equipment for each game. The Atari 2600 wasn’t the first system to do this; it was just the most successful. It was so successful in fact, that every video game at the time was referred to as an Atari regardless of who made it. The Atari 2600 came with two joysticks, two paddles, and two games—Pac Man and Combat, both still beloved today.
In the mid-80s, a Japanese card company decided to enter the market and introduced their own video game console: first as the Famicon in Japan, then as the Nintendo Entertainment System (NES) in America two years later. The NES came in two versions: the Control Deck that included two controllers and Super Mario Bros.—one of the most famous and most played games in history—and the Deluxe Set that also came with the NES Zapper (a gun) and R.O.B. (a robot) plus two additional games. The robot never caught on and was soon replaced with the PowerPad, a sheet of plastic with red and blue circles you would stand, run, and jump on. It was an early attempt to combine exercise with video games that didn’t take off. The NES became the market leader, and “Nintendo” now became the name synonymous with video games.
By today’s standards, these early video games and systems were crude, low tech, and simplistic, yet they were just as much fun and just as addictive as the latest and greatest games of today. Many of the classics such as Donkey Kong, Frogger, Pac Man, and Q-Bert are still available and played in one form or another. Some things, we see, just can’t be improved upon.
*****
“That’s it! That’s it! You almost got him!” Rusty shouted, waiving a fist in the air. He and his friend Dusty were sitting in front of Dusty’s parents’ cinema-sized screen playing Rebels For A Cause IV, the latest installment of the best-selling series. It had gone on sale just that morning. Even though they had pre-ordered their copy three months before, they still felt the need to stand outside the store two hours before it opened so they could be the first ones to play it. They thought two hours would be enough, but after seeing the line in front of them, they realized they should have camped out the night before. Oh well, live and learn.
Dusty had both hands firmly clenched around a controller, his thumbs moving so quickly he appeared to have three of them on each hand. “Dude, have you ever seen a level boss get wailed on like that before. Just a few more punches and—”
“Yeah! Yeah! We did it! He’s dead! We just cleared Level 2! Woo hoo!” They high fived their success.
They turned around to their third partner in the venture. “Jarom, it’s your turn now.” Rusty handed the controller back to him. But he didn’t seem to see it, nor did he appear to hear his friends’ celebration.
“Dude, it’s your turn to play. We just killed the first two levels. Now it’s your turn to help me slaughter the third.”
Jarom still showed no sign of acknowledgement. Rusty waved his hand in front of his zombie friend’s face. “Earth to Jarom. Earth to Jarom. Come in Jarom.” That broke the spell.
“Hmm. Huh? What?”
“Jarom, it’s your turn to play.” He again waved the controller in front of his face.
“Oh, ok. Let me just finish this last song.”
His friend’s head jerked back slightly. “Seriously? That’s what you said an hour ago when we started the game. And the hour before that when we were standing in line to get it. Dude, it’s Rebels For A Cause IV! We’ve been waiting a whole year for this.”
“I told you: I’ll play in a minute. Just let me finish this song.”
His friends looked at each other a little shocked. “Wow. I remember when we got Rebels For A Cause III—we couldn’t pry the controller out of a certain person’s hands. That must be one incredible song,” Dusty baited.
Jarom didn’t respond.
“Come on, buddy, those earbuds’ll permanently attach themselves to your head if you leave them in any longer.” He reached for the one in Jarom’s right ear and yanked it out.
Jarom spun around and swiped the earbud back. “Dude! What’s wrong with you?” Jarom put it back in. “You don’t go grabbing a guy’s bud.” His two friends gave each other a ‘what was that about’ look.
“I just thought you’d want to play the game after chipping in for a third of it. Guess not.” Dusty waved his finger in a circle around his ear, the universal sign for cuckoo.
“Jarom, how about we go outside and do something?” Rusty suggested.
“Yea,” Dusty chimed in. “There are three inches of new powder just aching to be skied on.” He stood up. “How about it, buddy? You coming?”
“Umm,” he looked down at his player, “sure.”
*****
There are beautiful days and there are glorious days. Today was a glorious day. The sun was shining in a clear blue sky. Its rays reflected off freshly fallen snow like polished chrome. And you couldn’t ask for better temperature: warm enough you could ski with just a sweater. But this kind of day wasn’t unusual in Lyman, a city known for its ideal weather, its beautiful scenery, and for being surrounded by some of the best mountains for skiing in the country; even the bad hills were good. Lyman was the kind of town you’d expect to see on a postcard, attracting skiers and tourists from all fifty states every winter. They only thing visitors loved more than the skiing was the scenery—perfect for taking lots of pictures to show jealous friends back home.
Most of the great ski hills were owned by lodges, but in the middle of town stood a good-sized hill that the locals could ski for free. Even the biggest thrill seekers managed to find a trail or two to make them scream. Normally the hill was so crowded with people that they outnumbered the trees. But today everyone must have stayed home to play Rebels For A Cause IV, because the hill was empty and the powder untouched.
“Oh, this is the perfect day for skiing!” Rusty shouted excitedly.
“Mmm, mmm, mmm, it is,” Dusty added lustfully. He couldn’t wait to thrust his skis into the virgin powder. “I can’t believe I’m going to be the first one down that hill.” He turned to Jarom. “Aren’t you glad you came with us?” Jarom was tapping his finger to a beat. “Dude, how can you listen to music on a day like this? And with snow like that?” He pointed to the perfectly white blanket of powder.
“I just want to finish this last song. Then I’ll go skiing.”
Dusty couldn’t take it anymore. Anyone that had his mind on anything other than skiing on a day like this with an empty hill of fresh snow like that was is serious need of help. He marched over to his friend, thrust his hand for the earbuds again, and yanked them both out.
Jarom erupted. “Dude! What did I tell you about touching my buds?” He punched Dusty in the jaw, knocking him down. “Do that again, and you’ll find yourself with more than just a sore jaw.”
Rusty stepped in between the two. “Jarom, buddy, we’re just really concerned about you is all.” He turned to the side to help Dusty up. “You’ve been listening to your music for the last five hours straight. It’s just not good for you to do that. How about taking a short break for an hour or so and doing a couple of runs with us?”
“Just let me finish this last song.”
Rusty shook his head sadly as it sunk into his hands. Dusty, however, was mad. He threw his head back in disgust. “Jarom, you have a problem. You need help.”
Jarom jerked back with a crusty look on his face. “Problem? I’m not the one grabbing at my friend’s earbuds.”
“Jarom, we’re your friends, and we’re concerned about you.” Rusty tried putting his hand on Jarom’s shoulder.
Jarom slapped the friendly gesture away. “What did I tell you about keeping your hands to yourself?! And I don’t have a problem!”
“Then put the player down, and let’s do some skiing.”
“I’m in the middle of a song. Let me finish it first.”
“Jarom, give me your player.”
“No.” He pulled it closer to his chest.
“Give me your player. Now.”
“Get your own #@&$#*^% player!” He stormed away.
His friends gave each other uncertain looks. Should they go after him, or did he need a little time to cool off first?
Jarom reached the bottom of the hill just as the song finished playing. He stopped to wait for the next track to begin.
He waited.
And waited.
Then he started to panic. He shook it. “What’s wrong with this thing?” He shook it a couple more times. “No, no, no!” He looked at the screen: 12,068 of 12,068. “I’m out of music. I’m out of music! Gotta get more music. Gotta get more music.”
*****
Lyman—it’s a nice town, but even the best places have dark secrets. From the front, Perry Dave’s Variety Store appears to be just another reputable business like any other mom and pop shop you’d find in Small Town America. But if you were to go around back, well, you would see a whole other side no one wants to admit exists.
Behind the friendly façade was a section of city ripped from the belly of Hell itself. This rundown, filth-ridden squalor was littered with used needles and razor blades, half-digested food in puddles, and broken bottles surrounded by broken people; it wasn’t a place you’d want to be caught dead in—and dead was the way most visitors found themselves. Jarom had been warned by his parents, his teachers, and his religious leaders to stay far away from this place and the people who came here. He had always taken their advice—until now.
“Hey, watch it!” a hung-over old homeless woman squawked at him when he nearly tripped over her twisted feet. She was hunched over a bottle of something cheap with a grungy blanket draped over her shoulders. “Don’t you look where yer going? Do ya think just ‘cause I ain’t got no home, I’m not a person no more? Don’t gotta show me no respect? Huh? Is that what you think?”
“Sorry. Sorry.” He tried not to make eye contact as he walked towards the light—a single incandescent bulb housed in a dented metal cone hanging by a rusted chain over a roughly hewn door. The large number of tracks in the snow showed Jarom he wasn’t the only customer. After looking around to make sure he was alone, he knocked on the door. He crossed his arms and shivered—not from the cold but from the withdrawal pains. Why wasn’t anyone coming to the door?
“What do you want?” A squinty-eyed man poked his head out the open door. Jarom hadn’t even seen it open. “Oh, it’s you. Back for more, are ya? Couldn’t wait for our usual meet in the park, could ya?”
“Yeah,” Jarom couldn’t stop shaking, “but I’m going to need a whole album this time, not just an EP or a Maxi-single.”
“A whole album you say.” Squinty rubbed his chin. “That don’t come cheap. Not cheap at all.”
“I know. I know.” The shaking became worse.
“Let’s see the cash.”
“Umm, I was hoping you could … um … give it to me on credit again. You know, like last time. I can get you the cash quick, just like last time. I just don’t have it right now, but I can get it.” Squinty looked unconvinced. “Come on. You know I’m good for it.”
“Well, you did pay on time with interest for that last one, sooo—” A strange howl, similar to a wolf’s, but slightly more sinister, interrupted his thought. He deepened his scowl. “No.”
“What? Why? I’ve been a good customer for a long time. The best, in fact!”
“Yeah, but that was before.”
“Before what?”
“Before your credit went bad.”
“What are you talking about? I’ll pay you. You know I’m good for the money. But I’ve got to have more music now.” He grabbed the front of Squinty’s shirt and shook him weakly.
“$5,000. In cash.”
He pulled Jarom’s clammy hands off.
“$5,000?! Where am I
supposed to get that kind of money?”
“You’re the one who said he was good for it. You figure it out. No cash, no music.” He turned his back on him.
“But I’ve got to have it. Please, you can’t do this to me. Please.” Jarom fell to his knees.
“It’s nothing personal; just business.” He closed the door, not bothering to look back at the beggar in the snow.
Jarom sunk forward, almost sinking his face into the grimy sleet. What was he going to do? Where could he get that kind of money? He’d already pawned everything he owned that was worth anything. Maybe that new video game his friends had bought? But it wasn’t worth $5,000—not even close. He started to cry. Why is this happening to me?
Another howl stretched thru the alley, yanking him back to reality. He sat up and looked around—nothing but that old homeless lady. Maybe she had some secret stash hidden … no, if she did she wouldn’t be wallowing in this hole.
She watched him drag himself to his feet and stumble out of the alley. “Good riddance,” she cackled as she pulled her ragged blanket around her more tightly, “now I can have me some peace.” She settled down to sleep and closed her eyes. They shot open at the nearby sound of a rough growl. She didn’t dare move. Something was in this alley with her. She heard snow crunch under the weight of something coming her way. If I lie still, maybe it won’t see me, she thought as she sunk down pulling the blanket over her head. She heard heavy panting coming closer and closer. She squeezed her eyes shut as tightly as she could. Then the panting started to move away slowly. She dared to peak out from under her blanket. The bulb gave off just enough light to draw an outline around a creature walking on all fours and as tall as a man! She ducked back under her blanket, held her breath, and sat perfectly still. She could still hear the snow crunching under the thing’s paws in an unbroken rhythm. It hadn’t seen her! She peeked out from under her blanket again and watched it leave the alley and turn in the same direction Jarom had. “Good riddance to you both,” she hissed under her breath.
*****
The Wayfarers’ Inn sat at the edge of town near the first freeway exit. It was a moderately priced motel, which kept the rift raft—both rich and poor—out. The AAA-Approved sign in the lobby window assured travelers they wouldn’t wake up the next morning with scabies. The motel had been constructed in the 70s, and it didn’t look like it had been updated since then, especially not the security. Jarom needed a lot of cash and figured there’d be some lonely traveler staying here with a huge stack who was just passing thru and therefore couldn’t afford to stick around and track him down.
He had been watching from the bushes for the last twenty minutes. No one had passed by, so he figured it was safe to try. He crept up the stairs to the second floor and down to the last window where the light was burned out and the view from the street blocked. Using a technique he’d learned on one of those ‘how to’ shows, he jimmied the window open. He stepped over the windowsill and looked around. He noticed clothes carefully laid over the back of a chair. Maybe a wallet? He crept over to check. As he rifled through the pant pocket, he noticed a backpack lying next to the bed. It must be filled with cash, he thought. He only saw one bed in the room with only one occupant who appeared to be slumbering soundly. This would be even easier than he had thought.
He crept quietly over to the backpack. He knelt down and slowly reached for it while keeping one eye on the bed for any sign of stirring from the sleeping owner. His hand rested on the side, and he pulled it gently away from the bed. He noticed the label on front of the pack: POA. I’ve never heard of that brand before. I wonder where this guy’s from?
So intensely focused on the sleeper and the backpack, he didn’t notice something had followed him into the room. Its glowing eyes floated over the windowsill, moved around the chair, and crept up behind him, oscillated slowing as they approached. Then they stopped, hovered in midair, and the sound of sniffing came from their direction. The creature detected a familiar scent—one it didn’t like it—coming from the bed. It crouched, then leapt over Jarom’s head. It opened its maw wide exposing two sets of razor sharp teeth all aimed for the poor sleeper’s bare back!
Jarom yelped as the creature passed over his head only a fraction of a second before its teeth would sink into the sleeper’s soft flesh, but it was enough warning to alert the sleeper so he could draw in his legs and launch a powerful kick thru the sheets, sending the beast flying off the bed and across the room.
It landed on its side, bounced slightly, then was up again on all fours readying for a second attack. It let out a fierce growl as it pounced again. The intended victim rolled off the bed, missing the creature’s bite by a fraction of an inch. He landed on his feet and looked over to see Jarom trembling against the wall clutching his backpack. He darted for the pack, but the beast caught him in the shoulder with a dozen teeth. They ripped four bloody trails thru flesh and muscle, forcing him to fall backwards. He reached for his pack but was too far away. Jarom sat paralyzed offering no assistance.
He turned around, grabbed the top snout with one hand and the jaw with the other, and pried the teeth from his shoulder. He flipped sideways, rolling on top of the beast. Keeping one hand on the snout, he reached again for his backpack, this time his fingers brushed against one of the straps. He strained his body forward and managed to loop a couple of digits around it. He pulled it towards his body and used the momentum to roll backwards, coming up on his feet. The beast charged him again, so he used the pack to deflect it sideways and into the wall. He knelt down, unzipped the pack, and pulled out a blade.
The creature made its final charge at him. He plunged the blade into its chest drawing a stream of viridescent blood. It arched back, howling in pain. He pushed it forward forcing it onto the ground, then pulled out a second blade and drove it thru the bleeding creature’s head, nailing it to the carpet. It writhed and struggled for a several seconds before the whimpering died down into silence.
Jarom saw the creature’s dead body lying at his feet. It looked similar to a wolf, but much larger and must stranger, almost like it had come out of one of those Japanese cartoons. He was terrified it was going to come back to life and eat him. He imagined the pain he’d feel as those teeth tore his hide to little pieces before feasting on his innards. There wouldn’t be enough left for the police to do a DNA test and identify his remains.
Then he noticed the blade sticking out of the creature’s skull. It looked like a sai, but it had a grip in the middle of the hilt. Why would someone put two grips on a knife? He studied it while its owner got dressed.
If Jarom had been better informed, he would have recognized the weapon as the claw of the Wandering Koala, a silent wanderer who was led from place to place to help those in need. But he wasn’t better informed and feared he’d be the weapon’s next pincushion.
The Wandering Koala walked over to the beast, extracted his weapons from its chest and skull, and cleaned them on the creature’s fur. Then he walked over to Jarom and pointed the sai at his head between his eyes.
“Don’t kill me, man! Please don’t kill me. I wasn’t looking to hurt anyone. I just needed money, that’s all.” He waited for the sai to slice thru his head like a ripe melon. Why wasn’t the sai slicing thru his head like a ripe melon? He peeked out one eye and saw a note being held up to his face: WHO ARE YOU?
“M-my name is J-Jarom, sir.”
Another note: WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY ROOM?
“L-looking for money.”
WHAT FOR?
“M-music.”
Wandering Koala looked confused. Why would anyone risk breaking into a stranger’s room for a few bucks to buy some new music? Pickpocketing would have been must easier and would have carried much less chance of being caught. There was more to this story, and he was going to get the unabridged version of it, even if it took all night.
*****
The first rays of the sun had just poked their pretty little heads over the horizon when the Wandering Koala arrived at the backdoor Jarom had been to the night before. He even received the same reception from the same homeless woman. He wondered why that crabby lady didn’t just find a different place to squat, preferably one with less traffic if she really hated people that much.
Judging by the tracks in the snow, this dealer got a lot of business. He walked up to the door and knocked. He heard someone with a limp approach the door, slide the chain, and fiddle with the knob before opening it.
“What do you want?” Squinty demanded.
The Wandering Koala stared at him.
“Well, speak up? Why are you bothering me?”
He grabbed Squinty by the neck and pinned him to the wall.
“Buddy, you just bought yourself a world of hurt,” Squinty said smugly as he stared over his attacker’s shoulders to the two thugs behind him. Without looking, Wandering Koala back kicked the one on the left into the wall, knocking over a couple of overflowing garbage cans. The second thug launched a right hook, but the Wandering Koala ducked and dodged the punch. He dropped Squinty, then sent the second thug to slumberland with a roundhouse kick.
Squinty took advantage of the distraction. He ran inside and locked the door. The Wandering Koala used his foot to unlock it.
Squinty was cowering in the corner trying to dial a phone, but he was too nervous to hit the right keys. He felt a blade glaze his throat—nearly breaking the skin—and saw a note in front of his nose: WHERE IS THE MUSIC? He glanced over to a painting of dogs playing poker. He felt the blade slide away and looked over to see the intruder swinging the painting on his hinges to reveal a wall safe. He shot a ‘you’ve got to be kidding me’ look at Squinty before putting his ear to the safe. Squinty laughed to himself. You’ll never be able to crack that safe. It’s designed to foil any attempt at—
The Wandering Koala opened the safe.
Squinty kept one eye on the safe cracker while fishing thru the sofa cushions for Old Reliable, a shotgun that had gotten him out of many a scrape. He whipped it out and aimed it at the intruder. “That’s far enough, buddy. I’m afraid—” A flash of metal and the front half of Old Reliable fell to the ground. His “guest” kept one sai pointed at his nose while pulling out discs and drives from the safe.
“Congratulations. You found the stash. Woo hoo. Now what are you going to do?”
The sound of sirens approaching from the distance answered his question.
“Cops? You called the cops on me? Why did you call the cops on me? How did you call the cops on me? You don’t speak! I can’t believe you called the cops on me.”
Wandering Koala held up another note: WHO DID YOU GET THESE FROM?
“If I tell you, will you call the cops off?” He waited for an answer but quickly realized he wasn’t going to get one. “I don’t know. I get ‘em from a wholesaler who gets ‘em from a distributor. But we’re all just little grunts; no one knows who makes the stuff. The big guy keeps us in the dark so none of us can rat him out, see. That’s all I know. I swear.”
The sirens grew fainter.
“Wait. Those sirens weren’t coming for me? You lied to me?” Squinty looked around incredulously. Wandering Koala smiled. “You tricked me! I can’t believe you tricked me. I should have known a mute couldn’t call the cops. How do you expect me to have compassion for the handicap when you pull stuff like that? Unbelievable.”
Wandering Koala could see in his eyes that he had told all he knew. He would have to find the source of the music some other way.
*****
The sun had reached its apex just as Wandering Koala reached the park. He walked off the paved trail into a grove of trees and climbed into one of them. To the casual observer, it looked like he disappeared into an ordinary weeping willow. But this wasn’t your garden variety Salix babylonica—no, this was the home of the Wandering Koala, and it had the amazing ability to appear wherever he needed it to. René, one of his friends and partners, thought it was magic. Brent, another friend who leaned more towards the scientific, figured it was engineered to somehow transverse dimensions. Wandering Koala had never said a word about how it worked. In the back of their minds, they wondered if even he knew, but they never said anything about it out loud.
“You’re back,” René commented as he walked out of the kitchen with a mug of hot cocoa. “Did you figure out why we’re here?”
The Wandering Koala (Kyle to his friends) shook his head ‘yes’.
“Oh good.” René sipped his cocoa. The marshmallows were half melted—just the way he liked them. “Brent was beginning to wonder if your magic compass had led us on a wild goose chase.”
“I was not,” Brent rebutted, turning away from a 20’ monitor. “And it’s not magic, René. We just don’t know how Kyle’s compass works yet. But that doesn’t make it magic.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” René said playing with the marshmallows in his warm beverage. “So why did the so-scientifically-advanced-we-can’t-explain-how-it-works-so-we-call-it-magic compass lead us to this tiny town with only two stoplights anyway?”
“I’m sure there are more than two stop lights in this city,” Brent defended.
“Town. And there aren’t. And do you know how I know this?”
“Is my answer going to affect yours?”
“Not really,” René replied tapping his spoon on the mug’s rim. “I’ll tell you how I know. I was bored last night, so I went out to have some fun. Friday night means fun night, right? And do you know what wild and exciting things I found to do?”
“Count stoplights?”
“Count spotlights. That was the only thing I could find to do. The only other people who were out were grocery shoppers and fast food addicts. They shouldn’t call this town Lyman. They should call it Lame Man. Heh, heh. Get it? Lame, man?” He walked over and sat down in an easy chair.
Kyle chuckled while Brent rolled his eyes. “So, Kyle, what did you discover?” Kyle swung his backpack off his shoulders and pulled out a stack of discs and several drives. “What are those?” There was a pause. “Really? Did you listen to any of it?” Another pause. “That’s probably a good idea. Well, let’s do a full spectrum analysis and see how dangerous they are.”