Where was I?
Damn, I had hoped I was farther along in the story than that. This is gonna take awhile. I’ll skip over the part about the trial/surgery. Though, I gotta tell ya, when Tommy was fishing around in that girl’s brain and accidentally brushed against some neuron or something that made her start braying like a gorram donkey in the middle of a federal courtroom…well, let’s just say I chuckled. Heh. Heh heh heh. Ha. Heh. Yeah, kinda like that. You know how it works, what with being all squishy and everything.
Needless to say, Wiseau and Shockwave saved the day. They put away the crime lord and saved the brain of their young witness, though she later turned around and sued them for the mental anguish brought about by being embarrassed in a federal courtroom. They took her case and prosecuted themselves and won, though given the obvious difficulty of that statement, they still haven’t figured out which side to find for. Not even in the year 600 Billion. In fact, that’s all there is to do in the year 600 Billion…discuss that single case. These are the hazards of being immortal.
Wiseau and Shockwave swung back by the Roasterie to get a report from the other authorities called to the scene. Turns out that they hadn’t found out much more than what Shockwave had already sussed out, except for the fact that the clones were “immature” and wouldn’t have lived even if they hadn’t been killed. It was baffling, and Tommy said as much.
“This is baffling,” said Tommy.
Shockwave stared at a readout of one of the clones’ DNA. “I concur. The genes have been scrambled post-mortem. The fingerprints and toeprints have all been sanded down as well. Identification is impossible. Technically, we have no suspect and no victim.”
“No victim! But that is crazy, Shockwave! There are 43 victims!”
“We have 43 headless bodies and no way of determining who they are. Without even that much to go on, there is no way to determine motive and thus no way to find leads, let alone follow-up on them.” Shockwave switched off the computer screen and folded it back into his arm.
Wiseau paced around the floor excitedly. The pile of bodies had been cleared away and sent down to the morgue for processing, so he didn’t have to worry about stepping on any of them. “No way, no way, no way! This does not sound like my best friend Shockwave! This sounds like a little chicken! Cheep cheep…!”
“Please refrain from making that noise,” Shockwave quickly interrupted.
“Fine, whatever! We go to the cloning place now!” Wiseau stormed out of the cafe abruptly.
If Shockwave could have blinked, he would have. But he couldn’t. Because he’s a robot. I mentioned that part, didn’t I? It’s kind of important, after all. Anyway, Shockwave followed after his partner and jammed himself into the passenger side of their car once more. “What cloning place do you refer to, Thomas? Need I remind you that cloning is frowned upon in your society and that the individuals engaged in such activities must be of a clandestine nature and will probably not be easily discovered?”
Wiseau slammed the Mazda into gear and sped away. “It is not on the Garmin, you think?”
“No. No, I do not imagine it is on –”
“Oh hi, Garmin! Tell me where the cloning place is!”
Some background: The Garmin was a navigation tool used by your kind and…hmm? Oh, you know what it is. I had a speech all prepared about the Global Positioning System. I guess I can throw these index cards out, then. Anyway, they typically did not contain the locations of secret cloning facilities. But for some damn reason, Tommy’s flickered to life and started giving him turn-by-turn directions to…somewhere. Which led Shockwave to utter a rather uncharacteristically colorful phrase.
“What the fucking fuck?”
Tommy laughed at his stoic partner’s outburst. “That is very funny, Shockwave! You finally learning to swear!” The Mazda RX-8 careened around a corner and sped down a busy street, dodging and swerving and cutting off one car after another. Wiseau was a skilled driver, but madder than a March hare in April.
“Now seemed like an appropriately inappropriate time to practice. You have no idea where this thing is leading us, Thomas. Assuming that it does actually know where a cloning facility is and is not merely directing us to the nearest Noodles & Company, the likelihood of that information being implanted by unsavory subjects with ill intent is nearly total.”
Wiseau’s misshapen face scrunched up as his brain tried to process that sentence. “You say it is a trap, then?”
“Unless, as I mentioned, we are on course for the local Noodles & Company.”
Wiseau suddenly jerked the car into reverse. “Shit, I missed my exit!” Performing a flawless J-turn at about 65 miles per hour, the tires shrieking against the pavement, Tommy found himself careening off a highway overpass and through the front window of a Toys R’ Us adjoined to a shopping mall. Shockwave remained silent as his partner haphazardly sped through the mall, honking at the panicked patrons and occasionally clipping a storefront or plowing through a kiosk. Just before Wiseau crashed his way out the other side of the mall, Shockwave looked out his window and said three words:
“Pier One Imports.”
They drove well into the night. Shockwave gave up on trying to talk sense into his partner and the trip was a quiet one. Until, of course, Shockwave started to recognize the terrain. “Thomas, are you taking us home?”
“No, I am taking us to the cloning place. The Garmin said it was this way, and I trust the Garmin even if you don’t. But now that you mention it, that does look like the florist shop I occasionally shop at whenever my favorite florist is closed. Dammit, Garmin! I did not ask you to take me home! I did not!” Tommy fiddled with the contraption, but all it did was give him several alternate routes back to what he now could plainly see was their country estate. “You have betrayed me, Garmin!”
Shockwave looked up at the car’s headliner. “Spare us the drama just this once, Thomas. It was unreasonable to assume that machine would direct us anywhere germane to our investigation. Take us home. We can recuperate there and resume our work in the morning.”
Tommy pounded the steering wheel with the heel of his hand, but relented. “Fine. You’re right. I am weary and in need of rest. I just wish I could sleep in the city like a person, like a human being. And I just wish I understood why the Garmin took us back home even though I did not tell it to do such a thing.”
“Your adoration of urban life is perhaps the most bewildering aspect of your persona, and since I make frequent references to other bewildering aspects, the sheer magnitude of that statement should be made clear. Your bed in the country is of the highest quality and comfort, and otherwise your room is tastefully appointed with the finest furnishings, tapestries, and electronic devices this world has to offer. Also, the extraneous noise is significantly reduced.”
“I like the noise! And I can’t get used to looking over all that corn and grass and cattle. I just…well, I adore a penthouse view!”
As they crossed the last few miles to their home, the unusual pair engaged in the argument they’d been having over and over again every day for years. It wasn’t even so much an argument anymore as a ritual. I understand a good many married couples fall into this sort of pattern. It’s almost as though they’re happier fighting than not having anyone to fight with. I tried that whole marriage thing a few times before I realized I was too sane and not mortal enough to make it stick. What I miss most is the shoes. Women’s shoes are the most fascinating phenomenon I have encountered on my travels. I’m not kidding.
Anyway, I’m taking a smoke break. I’ll catch up with you in a bit.