Brady Carmichael and the Poodle of Mass Destruction - The Kachina Shaman (3 page)

This season, embroidered flowers and a
sixties look were back in style and she had dressed up her gear in
a flowerchild, retro-hippie feel. She had sewn a faded denim cover
over a bulletproof panel undersuit. Then she had flared out the
legs to give the suit bell-bottoms around her paws and extra
storage for various weapons. After that she embroidered pink,
yellow and blue flowers around the neck and legs. Finally, she
bedazzled “Fifi” on the back pockets – one “Fi” on each butt cheek.
Her tail poked out in-between each syllable.

“Not bad,” she said observing herself in a
small mirror.

“Nice outfit Feef. Ready?” Brady asked as he
stuffed a couple of extra stun grenades into his shirt pockets.

“All set.” Fifi said with a glint in her
eye.

“Computer, take us to the designated landing
zone, 200 yards southwest of the compound. Silent landing, full
stealth.”

Number Eight flew silently over the ridges,
passing low over the boulders and scrub brush typical of the
mountain desert in northern New Mexico.

It touched down gently, raising a small cloud
of dust and loose scrub. The side hatch opened and a tiny, fast
moving shape leapt out - moving as if it were the shadow of some
bird of prey.

Fifi was in full mission mode – she was the
shadow, one with the landscape. Sprinting out from Number Eight,
she took a defensive position behind a cluster of large boulders
that had a good view of the compound. Brady followed, not as fast
as Fifi, but with a fluidity and grace that is only developed by
years of training and disciplined martial arts practice.

A ten-foot tall fence topped with barbed wire
encircled the compound. It gave off a persistent hum and crackled
occasionally, smelling of ozone. Warning signs with lightening
bolts stating “High Voltage – Do Not Touch” appeared every 30 feet
or so.

Inside the fence there were three buildings.
A large four-story warehouse style building sat in the middle. It
looked out of place in the desert mountain landscape. Nestled on
either side were two residential buildings styled like military
barracks, flat and wide, one story each.

Looking off to the right the moonlight
revealed the edges of a rough dirt road leading to a gate with a
keypad and small security camera.

“OK, Fifi, are you ready to execute Plan A?”
Brady asked.

Fifi responded, “Ready.”

They both looked down at their comlinks.
These tiny computers were state of the art control systems that ran
the full length of their left forearms (or forepaw in Fifi’s case).
They were made of bulletproof touch-screen glass that allowed them
to communicate with each other and the central computer, control
various smart weapons built into their armor, access mission data,
adjust their camouflage, listen to MP3s, and surf YouTube.

Brady whispered down at the sleek glass
shield covering his forearm, “Computer, execute stealth protocol;
Klaus von Hindenburg.”

Their comlinks flashed an acknowledgement and
the air shimmered around them. Within seconds, they were
transformed.

Fifi looked much like herself without her
fancy fashion armor, with no visible gear or weapons of any sort,
just a purple bow in her hair and pink collar with a small doggie
bone medallion that said Fifi in scripted letters.

With Brady the effect was more dramatic,
transforming him from sleek, high tech ninja warrior to a blond
haired, blue-eyed German tourist - complete with worn green
lederhosen, a camera swinging around his neck and a knapsack on his
back.

“OK zere Fifi.” Brady tried on his German
accent, trying to whisper. “You look wundabar. How do I look?”

“You look like you just auditioned for The
Sound of Music. Can you sing Dream an Impossible Dream in B flat?”
Fifi smirked, “I think you’d be better as that big nun in the
movie. Oh do you remember that one scene when Julie Andrews -”

“Danke schön, mein Leibchen.” Brady cut her
off, “That’s ‘thanks a lot honey’ in German.”

Fifi rolled her eyes.

They walked up to the gate. On the keypad
they saw a red buzzer under the typical grid of numbers.

Brady buzzed it, really leaning on the buzzer
for about 30 seconds. He called out “Gut morning. Anyone zere?”

Fifi added to the noise by barking in her
best annoying spoiled lapdog style. Lights came on all around the
compound.

Dogs started barking in answer, a lot of
them. Then they heard roosters joining in, crowing like crazy.

Brady and Fifi looked at each other in
surprise. Brady mouthed to Fifi, “Dogs and chickens?”

Their attention was pulled back to the gate
when a crackling voice answered. “Who is this? It’s four a.m. It
better be important.”

“Ah Allo,” Brady answered. “I am named Klaus
von Hindenburg and ve are here on behalf of ze Society for Children
Vidout Lederhosen. Did you know that 99.9999% of all children in
the world do not have lederhosen to call zere own? Ze Society aims
to stop zis terrible problem. Ve are looking to collect, your
donation today of two hundred and fifty dollars vill buy a
lederhosen for underprivileged lederhosen-less child. Vat do you
zay, can we count on you to donate today?”

“Wait there,” the crackly voice responded,
followed by a burst of static and then silence.

Brady looked at Fifi and gave her a
see-I-told-you-so look. Fifi just shook her head. She already knew
the speech Brady would give her later about how all criminal
masterminds secretly love lederhosen.

--

They didn’t have to wait long.

Five unshaven, dirty looking men in rumpled
military fatigues shuffled out of a small door in the front of the
warehouse style building. The men slowly walked toward Brady and
Fifi. A cool night breeze carried the stink of beer, dirty clothes,
and cigarettes wafting from the men. Evidently good personal
grooming was not a hiring requirement for the Kachina shaman. As
they drew closer, the men spread out, creating a semi-circle about
25 feet around the fence gate. Each of them held rifles casually
pointed toward Brady.

One of the men continued closer, walking up
to where Brady and Fifi stood at the gate.

He looked at them and spit on the ground near
their feet. His bottom lip stuck out where he had tucked a huge wad
of chewing tobacco. He smiled, showing stained yellow teeth with
little pieces of chewing tobacco speckling his lips. He had a
wrinkled, blotchy face with uneven grey stubble on his chin and
cheeks, short grey hair, and beady eyes. He slowly reached into the
breast pocket of his camo coat and pulled out a device that looked
like a garage door opener. He pressed the button and the gate
clicked, then slowly creaked open.

“Why you’re simply hilarious.” He said in a
slow drawl and spat again on the ground right in front of them,
“The boss doesn’t like people pokin’ into his business and comin’
‘round here uninvited, but since you’re here…” He paused then got
an evil glint in his eyes and said, “Why don’t you come on in and
we’ll extend some of our special hospitality.”

“Does this mean zat you will be donating to
ze Lederhosen Society?” Brady asked hopefully.

The man turned back to them, “Oh you’re a
funny, strange little guy aren’t you? What’s with your stupid
lookin’ dog. What is it – a poodle? Foo-foo, fancy French dog.
Worse than useless.” He laughed and spat again, this time landing a
big goober that splashed onto Fifi’s foot.

All the guards chuckled along with their
leader.

“Come on ya’ll, let’s escort our new friends
in and make them comfortable. Why, they can just join the party in
the big house. The boss is still celebratin’.” The man motioned
with his head toward the big building in the center of the compound
as he said big house. “This leder-hose-a-whats-it guy and his
stupid dog can be part of the entertainment.” He made a motion to
bring the rest of the goons in closer.

Brady interrupted him, “Ah, she may look
stupid, as you zay. But look, she can do a fancy dance and tricks!”
He signaled Fifi and began to clap a steady rhythm while dancing a
little jig in his lederhosen.

Fifi stood up on her hind legs and began to
dance along with Brady, really hamming it up. She did somersaults
and spinning circles. She even threw in a couple of back flips and
tried to bark the Benny Hill theme song along with Brady’s
clapping.

The guards all stood still, evidently stunned
speechless and mesmerized at the sight of a smiling, clapping
lederhosen wearing young man and his happily dancing and singing
poodle.

Fifi slyly closed the gap between herself and
the spitting lead guard, spinning, twisting and flipping in the
air. Brady smiled to himself as he saw how carefully she avoided
the wet goober spots all over the ground. She noticed glancing back
that Brady had danced along with her just inside the gate.

Brady and Fifi’s eyes met and they silently
signaled each other - now!

Fifi bared her teeth and let her temper
loose. Growling, “Ki-yaaaa!” She drew her nunchucks and came up
fast and hard, striking the sweet spot right between the spitting
guard’s legs. The nun chuck impacted perfectly, sounding like a wet
cantaloupe dropping onto pavement.

The guard grunted, squeaked a little feeble
“Ouch,” and fell down to his knees, holding his hands over his
newly tenderized region.

Fifi place her paws on each of his shoulders
and looked directly into his beady, watering eyes. She said slowly
and deliberately, “All that spitting is just gross and disgusting.
Don’t ever spit like that around a lady like me. Your mother would
be ashamed. Have I made myself clear? Are you understanding me
here? And I’m not Foo-foo, I’m Fifi.”

The guard squeaked and nodded, then toppled
over.

Brady looked down. “Easy there girl,” he said
quietly. “Let’s not be impolite.”

“OK, now where’s the creepy dancing guy!?”
Fifi turned and asked the stunned guards surrounding them.

Fifi’s question seemed to wake the remaining
goons up. They started bringing their guns around to fire. But it
was too late. They hadn’t noticed the gas grenades that Brady
rolled in front of them during Fifi’s little speech. They went off
with a flash, suddenly releasing huge clouds of knock-out gas that
was specially formulated to not effect Brady and Fifi.

When the smoke cleared, the four guards were
laid out on the ground, unconscious.

“See,” Brady said to Fifi, “The lederhosen
trick always works.”

Fifi just shook her head and rolled her
eyes.

--

They tied up the guards and left them in a
heap next to one of the barrack buildings. Then they quickly snuck
over to the big warehouse.

As they drew closer they could hear applause
coming from inside.

“Fifi, let’s scout around. The computer
detected a couple hundred life forms, that must’ve been the crowing
and barking we heard. There’s definitely something very weird going
on here. Let’s circle the building.”

As they went around the far side, they saw a
fenced-in area with a huge variety of animals. There were chickens,
dogs, cats, snakes, spiders, and scorpions all penned inside rows
of cages lining the side of the warehouse.

“Hmmm,” Brady shook his head, “Poor critters,
they must be what the Shaman practices on. What do you think Feef,
shall we go front door or back door?

Fifi was staring at the animals. She hated to
see animals of any kind caged and mistreated. She looked up at
Brady, bared her teeth and growled, “Front door. I really don’t
like this guy.”

They circled back around to the front of the
warehouse to the small door the guards had originally come out of.
Next to it was a huge sliding door similar to an aircraft hangar
entry that covered the front half of the building. It was shut
tightly now.

There was a small keypad and a security
camera mounted next to the door.

Brady altered settings on his comlink, going
full stealth so he was virtually invisible. Fifi did the same and
they snuck up to the key panel near the door. Brady popped the
panel cover and looked inside. He grunted, looking down to where he
knew Fifi was watching his back, “Pretty standard stuff, I’m going
to patch in a control buster and we’ll take over the building
electronics.” He opened a tool kit built into his thigh armor and
starting disconnecting wires and reconnecting them to a small black
box he had taken from his tool kit. Within thirty seconds it was
done.

“OK Fifi,” Brady said, “It’s front door
time.” He lifted up his arm and spoke into the comlink, “Number
Eight, come around and give us back-up. We need a full light show.
We wanna dazzle and shine.”

Within ten seconds Number Eight silently
appeared, hovering behind them like a protective mother eagle over
her nest. Eight turned on its bank of floodlights, brilliantly
lighting up the front of the building. The ultra bright lights hung
from hidden panels that had opened on the sleek underside of the
hovering egg.