Hitting on Orlan

[Wyvern]

"Waddaya mean ya didn't find him?"

 

Don Ikeelayunow shifted in his seat, shaded in the shadows. He crunched a burning cigar into his ashtray and gave it a few violent twists, deading the flames.

 

"W-w-w-well, O Great Don Ikeelayunow we arrived at the uhh, the... y'know, the Quinkin- I can't pronounce it. Kinnyquin-."

 

"The Quincuinglocks," interrupted Joe Mama a.k.a Loyal Ikeelayunow Underling #12. "There weren't even no glocks there, sir."

 

"Naw, that ain't it." Al Fishy a.k.a Loyal Ikeelayunow Underling #5 cast his partner a mean glance. "You got too many guns on your mind, Joey, you know tha-"

 

"Gentlemen." Don Ikeelayunow cleared his throat. "You're straying from the subject."

 

Al Fishy and Joe Mama stood in silence for a moment. They shot each other nervous glances as the shadowed figure of Don Ikeelayunow raised a hand in the air and circled it a few times. An enormous, brawny mob-type immediately entered into the furnished chamber, causing the two underlings to hold their breath. The large mobster then served Don Ikeelayunow a piping hot Pizza Francescana, which measured the exact size of the Don's hand circles. Al and Joe exhaled.

 

"Please." Ikeelayunow began delicately cutting his pizza. "Continue."

 

"Well, sir, we uhh, we arrived at the gig. The Quincuinwhateveryawannacallit, the dime's party. And the doors was closed."

 

"Yeah. We were thinkin of breakin in, since a few huge troll bouncers with brass knuckles ain't never scared us or nothin *ahem.* But we caught this cat, he was wearing a detective hat and seemed to be looking for something."

 

Al Fishy nodded.

 

"So we beat it."

 

"You left." Don Ikeelayunow set down his silverwear. "Without hitting on Orlan?"

 

Al and Joe exchanged a glance.

 

"I-I beg yer pardon, sir?"

 

"You left without humiliating your target as intended?"

 

"Oh." The underlings paused for a long moment. "Y-yes sir."

 

"Damn incompetent-" Don Ikeelayunow let out a sigh. "Well, what're you comin to me for? Get back out there and execute Operation Gossip Buzz as planned. You remember it, don'tcha?"

 

Al and Joe fidgeted in silence for a moment. The Don raised his voice a bit.

 

"Don'tcha?"

 

"Y-yes sir!" Al Fishy reached into his pocket and pulled out an electric buzzer. "Joe and me're news reporters working for Sexy Sexy Monthly, and we want an interview with the Sexy Sexy Man."

 

"Then, when Al shakes his hand." Joe picked up a large camera at his feet. "He gets the shock, and I take the pictures. Soon, hundreds of magazines have pictures of Orlan in a shocking state."

 

"And humiliation is ours."

 

"Good." Ikeelayunow began cutting his pizza again. "Now get to work. He should be hangin around them same quarters. You know how them male celebs do with their 'Mightier than the Sword' business. Report back here tommorow, and don't forget the price of failure."

 

"W-we won't, O Great Don Ikeelayunow! One additional adjective of praise to your name for every failed mission."

 

"That's right." The shadows seemed to grin. "And if you ever get tongue-tied, you'll be sleeping with the dishes... as a full-time dishwasher."

 

Al and Joe nodded, and both of them shuddered at the thought. As they exited from the Don's chamber, Joe Mama sighed.

 

"Say, Al." Joe looked over his large camera glumly. "I don't s'pose we could exchange dis camera for one dat looks like a gun before we-"

 

"Oh would you shaddup."

[Wyvern]

"Ah geeze Joey, I thought we agreed: no gat ties."

 

Joe Mama shut the door to the large white van and scowled. He adjusted the Uzi-design tie of his reporter uniform and spat at the ground.

 

"C'mon Al, plenty o' great negotiators have worn this kind of tie. Like Scarface."

 

Al Fishy adjusted the final strap of the electric buzzer on his right hand and sighed. Slipping a white glove over it, he turned towards the Mighty Pen Keep and examined it for a long moment.

 

"Alright Joe, time for Operation Gossip Buzz. Remember, I'm Alfred Fishingyacht, and you're Joseph Mamamia. We have to be real high-class an' all, since we're supposedly part of that Sexy Se- Oh would you stop that?!"

 

Joe Mama gave his camera one last violent swing, aiming it like a rifle. He then nodded sheepishly to Al, and cocked the device onto his shoulder.

 

"O.K, let's go..."

 

The two mobsters-turned-news-reporters made their way into the Pen through the window next to the open front door. They wandered the halls for over thirty minutes before finally admitting to themselves that it was a much larger place than they expected. In took them another ten minutes to admit that they were hopelessly lost.

 

"I told you, Al. I told you we should've made a right at that last-"

 

"Would you shaddap? You haven't got a map either." Al almost slapped a hand on his forehead, then remembered his electric buzzer. "Let's see, I remember we passed that pig sty Office twice, and there was that stairway..."

 

"Maybe we should just ask her?"

 

Joe pointed down the hall towards Melba, who was sweeping the floors. Al Fishy perked up and grinned at his associate, then called out:

 

"Ey you faaaa- I mean, I beg uhh your pardon. My partner and I here are part of the magazine Sexy Sexy Monthly, and we're searching for the quarters of one... Orlan?"

 

Melba raised a brow at the two strangers, then scooped up her broom and pointed its handle in their direction.

 

"You're standing right next to it."

 

Al and Joe looked at one another, then turned to the door at their side. The two of them examined the large neon letters and stars spelling out "Orlan's room," and grumbled to themselves.

 

"What's this?" Joe snatched a small post-it note nestled between two neon letters. "Out Sunbathing?"

 

"He'll be back in a bit," muttered Melba. She then turned a corner and went back to her sweeping.

 

"Sounds like a manly thing to do." Al leaned back against a wall, almost stuffing his electric buzzer-strapped hand into his pocket. "I guess now all we gotta do is wait."