Cut is joined on the rocky outcropping miles outside the city by Jimson ‘Jim’ Jameson. Jim always knew he would become a sidekick for a hero one day – partially because of his unlikely, aliterative name. Jim is prime sidekick material. His skills include high computer aptitudes and an affinity for automotive safety. His weaknesses are poor physical conditioning and bad eyesight. He’s 5’6″ tall and is wearing ill-fitting jeans, a Star Trek polo shirt and a backpack full of sidekickery. He hands Cut a pair of binoculars.
“This is what I got you for your birthday cut. They are binoculars. They make things that are far away appear to be closer so they are easier to see. But it’s just an illusion. They’re still far away. You look through this end. Also, do not use them for looking at the sun,” he says as he hands the binoculars to Cut.
“I wasn’t born, Jim. You know this,” Cut says as he peers at the smoke through the binoculars, “but thank you. I was ready to reject this gift as my eyesight is in the 99th percetile according to my optomotrist. I enjoy two visits a year thanks to my high-end HMO. But after looking through them I can see they have a purpose. Thank you. I had already surmised that the explosion had targeted city hall, but this confirms it. Also I enjoy watching smoke.”
“What’s our next move, Cut?” asks Jim, “I brought your turbo-boosted, four-by-four off-road truck in case you wish to race through the rough terrain towards the apparent danger.”
“Good thinking, Chum,” comments Cut, “Or should I say, ‘lack of poor thinking’ since I always run towards danger! Today is a day for justice! It is also the day I start calling you ‘Jam’ instead of Jim. Let’s go!”
Cut pivots and dashes towards his truck that has fully independant suspension and tubular frame construction, tossing the binoculars to Jam, who nearly drops them after bobbling the catch a few times. Jam sighs and carefully jogs after Cut, minding his asthma and premature sciatica.
By the time Jam reaches the impressive black truck, Cut is drumming the steering wheel impatiently with his fingers and chewing the stub of a cigar, “I smoked this entire cigar while I waited for you,” he grumbles, “buckle up for safety!”
Jam complies as the truck lurches forward and bounces down the rough-cut trail like an overweight jungle cat.
“The government built this truck!” proclaims Cut. “They took a normal truck and made it tougher with welding and hammers. I hope they did a good job!” he bellows as he jerks the wheel to the left, sending the truck careening down an impossibly steep hill.
“What are you doing?” screams Jam, gripping his armrests as tight as he can, “Your thirst for dangerous situations frightens me!”
“Justice doesn’t care who is frightened, Jam!” Cut hollers as the vehicle reaches the bottom of the hill. It crashes through a concrete Jersey-barrier and continues on at high speeds towards the City. “Besides, the faster we get there, the faster we can fix it; I don’t have time for this situation today!”
Jam relaxes slightly and turns on the truck’s flashing lights and siren. The highway leading into town is nearly empty in stark contrast to the roads leading out of town which are packed with cars and moving slowly.
“Computer says they’re evacuating the City, Cut,” says Jam, “We won’t have much trouble getting to City Hall
“We’re not going to City Hall, Jam,” Cut exclaims, “that missile was fired from City Cemetery!”
“Wow!” shouts Jam, “I had no idea you had such a natural sense of trajectory!”
“I don’t,” grumbles Cut, thrusting a crumply paper at Jam, “this paper told me!”
Jam takes the paper and his jaw drops as he reads, “Deer Cut, I’m in the semitary. The missal came from my missal gun thing that I stole. I want you to come here where I will kill the entire peepal who you are with and then kill you too. But first I will drink your blood which will be after I do a lot of karatee all over your face! Signed, Haha! You will find out but here’s a hint I’m a
vampe vyam vaum Dracula!”
“There is a list of things I hate,” begins Cut, “and that list is housed at the Library of Congress. There are 478 things on that list. Near the top are Draculas. It’s either 3 or 5. It’s not number one because that is fish bigger than me. Number two is biathlon. After that it’s Draculas and wolfmans and things.”
“What number is illiteracy?” asks Jam.
“I don’t hate children of unwed parents! Are you some kind of bigot, Jam!?” Cut hollers as he mashes the pedal to the floor so hard it creates a miniature sonic boom.
Jam just stares and hold on for dear life as Cut snaps the truck into a perfect power slide that ends at the foot of the City Cathedral.
“Are you going to talk to a priest?” asks Jam.
“No!” bellows Cut, “Parking is a bitch by the cemetery. Let’s go!” he barks as he kicks the truck door open, stands backwards on the running board and backflips to the pavement before rushing off towards the City Cemetery.
Jam takes a few moments to gather his supplies before taking a shortcut through the cathedral that leads him to the cemetery in back, just seconds after Cut arrives.
“I had to run 5 laps of the block waiting for you, Jam!” says Cut as he lights a very large, high-quality cigar with a wooden match, “It’s Dracula time!”
Jam jukes left to avoid the t-shirt booth printing, “It’s Dracula Time!” on a great many shirts of different sizes and follows Cut through the cemetery gate.
Somewhere a wolfman howls, unless it’s just a wolf or a recording of one.
Jam looks towards the sound and thinks, “This is how you know the cemetery is creepy.”
Night falls so fast it must be a movie.