O’Melissokomos
The Bee Keeper

Yippee??? 3 (scifi celeb)

by hypnojon32

Read Chapter 2

When we last left our heroes…

The Hardy Boys and Paulo plunged into the pit.

Their fall was disgustingly broken by the soft, writhing bodies of the thousands of large snakes that lived in the bottom. The boys found they were sitting waist deep in snakes.

The sides of the deep pit were vertical and smooth. There was no way out.

“Quick!” shouted Frank, “Get your hands free. And whatever happens, keep at least one hand free!”

They shed their bonds quickly. Now that they were no longer hanging from the hook, it was easy. They tore at their ankle ropes, feeling the knots out in the dark.

Even as they did this, they could feel the snakes around them. Their slithering movements quickened as they sensed their new prey.

Frank, Joe, and Paulo could feel tongues all over. Lashing out, they grabbed out blindly and threw snakes away from them. But the more they did this, the more writhing, smooth bodies replaced them.

And then they began to constrict. All at once, Joe found that he could not move his ankles any more as a mass of living rope wound around them. He tried to move them off but it was no use. And all the while he could feel the snake’s muscular mass creep higher and higher, around and around.

“Help! Frank, help!”

But Frank and Paulo had problems of their own. Both of them had multiple snakes wrapping around their legs and chest, squeezing them tighter and tighter.

Above them, in the dungeon, there was a dull roar and a smashing noise.

“Lift your arms straight up! Don’t let them become trapped!” Frank yelled.

Joe and Paulo obeyed, lifting their arms, in Joe’s case just in the nick of time, as a serpent wrapped himself around his chest.

Around and around, tighter and tighter.

“Well, Frank, I guess this is it,” Joe said weakly. The constricting snakes were making it hard to get the breath out to speak.

“Don’t be too sure!” Frank returned.

Around and around, tighter and tighter. Paulo was now nothing more than a mass of snake wrapped boy. Coils of strong snake muscle mummified him from ankle to neck. His breathing was shallow.

Suddenly a rushing wind filled the pit and a bright light lit up everything clear as day.

Looking up, the boys saw Fen-10, transformed as a mechanical pit bull hovering above them and lowering slowly. Helicopter rotors were extended out of the top of his head and from the tip of his tail. His diamond tipped drill nose cone had been extended. His eyes glowed bright as searchlights.

The bottom of his large, squarish body slid open and three handles connected to strong cables dropped out.

Now, Joe and Paulo understood why it was important to keep their arms free. Each boy grabbed onto a handle. Fen-10 began to lift into the air taking the boys and a few boas along with him.

Fen-10’s neck extended a bit. He turned his head toward the boys. His lighted eyes grew bright red irises.

With precision accuracy, Fen-10 shot laser beams from his eyes, shooting off the heads of the snakes coiled around each boy. Dead snake meat dropped off them and away.

Fen-10 increased the power to his rotors. He and the boys rose quickly out of the pit, up through the dungeon, through a hole in the dungeon ceiling, up, up and away.

* * *

Sometime earlier…

“So long boys!” Cannem and the guards guffawed as they exited the dungeon through a camouflaged door. The boys were now alone.

“Don’t worry guys,” Frank said, wriggling his fingers, “We’ll be OK.”

“What are you doing?” Joe asked, “Can you reach your knots? Can you get loose?”

Frank wriggled his fingers a bit more, and then stopped, as he had found the correct button on his watch. He pressed it.

Far away, in another section of the megalopolis called Bayport, in the ruined rubble that had

once been the Hardy Boys home, a high pitched, steady beeping began. The second his homing signal began, Fen-10 awoke from his regeneration cycle and found he was sleeping in a cave of debris.

As he had slept during the confusion his internal heat sensors had automatically switched on his multi-phasic, multi-purpose, and completely fireproof force-field. As the building burned, Fen-10 slept on, unnoticed by all.

Now, his homing signal, continued to beep, strong and steady. He rose into the air and debris began displacing all around him.

Eventually, he broke the surface with a CRASH!!! His force-field surrounded him like a big blue ball. It flickered and disappeared as it shut off. With a rush and a roar he turned on his turbo boosters and shot up and away into the sky in search of his masters.

* * *

Up through a tunnel, up through a sewer pipe, up through the sewer opening. Finally, they were free! Frank, Joe, and Paulo had never been so glad to see the sun.

Fen-10 set them down gently on a sidewalk across the street from the YIPPEE building.

But they did not linger for long. The cables retracted and Fen-10’s stomach closed up. He transformed into a huge Great Dane. The three boys climbed aboard. Amid curious and astonished stares, Fen-10 lifted off and zoomed away through the robin – egg blue sky.

Later…

…at Paulo’s apartment, Frank, Joe, and Paulo mapped out their next move.

They could not go back and rebuild their apartment. They could not rebuild their group. YIPPEE thought they were dead and for now, the Hardy Boys needed them to think that.

But without a YIPPEE ID they might as well be dead. They could not buy, sell, communicate with anyone online, drive, post a snail or e-mail letter, use a public phone, restroom or transit. They couldn’t even go for a coffee, or buy some cigs and a bottle of Shnapps without arousing suspicion.

For now, they could stay at Paulo’s but with no income, no way to contribute, this would soon become a strain.

There was only one alternative. Take down YIPPEE. Take it down hard, fast and once and for all free the world from its iron, vise-like grip.

Easier said than done.

“That’s for sure!” said Joe, when Frank had voiced that fact.

“Maybe. Maybe not,” Paulo said cryptically.

“What do you mean, bud?” asked Frank.

“Never mind that now. In order for my plan to work, you guys are going to need IDs. Fake ones that’ll hold up just enough to…”

“To what???” The Hardy Boys were on the edge of their seats.

But Paulo just smiled slightly and refused to say anything more.

* * *

That night…

The best bet for a fake ID, Paulo reasoned, would be a friend of a friend of his who operated out of a little club on the lower east side of Bayport.

Even now, in their enlightened age, identity theft was rampant. Frank and Joe felt sorry they had to do this as they usually worked to bring these kinds of operations down. But they had no choice.

The lower east side of Bayport was a massive slum, filled with dirt, poverty, human misery and rats, both human and the furry kind. The lower east side was broken into smaller provinces of its own, each once ruled by its own crime boss kingpin. Paulo’s friend was the kingpin of his area. His name was Chet.

“Hmmmm… Why does that name seem so familiar?” Frank wondered.

“I dunno,” returned Paulo, “He says he was named after some distant relative. Go figure.”

Chet worked out of a small, rundown looking club called The Horny Hustler.

Inside, it was dark, stuffy, and smelled like urine. The floor was sticky. The place was largely empty except for a few depressed and downtrodden barflies. Behind the bar was a bulky bartender with an upper tooth missing. His dark hair was curly and unkempt. He wore jeans and a wifebeater and he had tattoos of anchors on both of his large biceps. His BO was worse than his breath.

Paulo had called earlier and had been given a series of passwords.

“What’ll it be?” grunted the thing behind the bar.

“Wine is fine but beer is better,” said Paulo.

“Is that a fact?” the bartender said, pricking up his ears, “Anything else?”

“Yes,” Paulo said, “I’d like to speak to the manager.”

“Why should I let a little pissant like you see my boss?”

Taking a deep breath, Paulo said, “Tell your boss I can turn water into wine.”

“That’s quite a miracle,” said bartender, How to you do that?”

“By saying Yahoo instead of Yippee,” Paulo whispered. Saying such a thing was tantamount to treason.

His hand covering it, the bartender slid a keycard with a magnetic strip across the bar. Paulo took and held it surreptitiously.

“In the men’s room there’s a broom closet. At the back of the closet, high up on the right hand side you’ll find the slot. Insert this card the ancient way three times, pause, then three times more to be admitted. If you are wise you will return it to the first guard you see. These kinds of magnetic cards are supposed to be discontinued. If a cop catches you with it you will be fined, even arrested.” the bartender whispered.

“Understood,” Paulo whispered back.

Inside the men’s room they found the closet. Moving aside some cleverly placed junk they found the thin, horizontal slot, nearly at the ceiling. Paulo carefully inserted it strip down and to the right, as directed.

There was a pause and then the boys gasped as the hooks in the back retracted sharply, one by one. The back wall slid open.

The boys moved forward. “Hey wait a minute! Something’s wrong here!” Frank said sharply. It’s a dead end!”

It was true. The space beyond was just that, a square, coffin-like space with no way out. Before they could back out the back of the closet slid shut behind them. They were trapped!

They listened to the hooks pop back into place. There was a whirring sound.

“Hey! We’re moving!” cried Joe.

The boys realized that they were in a tiny elevator. Although cramped, they were relieved they were in no immediate danger.

After what seemed like forever, but really only a couple of minutes, they came to a stop and the wall opened again. The boys popped out like cramped sardines.

Here then, was the real hideout. Here was the real Horny Hustler. The place the Hardys found themselves now was a homage to opulence. The ceiling was high and vaulted and supported by pillars. Thick, red carpet covered the floor, except to the left where a large, comma shaped pool was surrounded by marble tiles. The men and women playing in the pool were all in various states of undress without shame.

The center and right hand section of the room had been set up as a restaurant, bar and supper club. Tables with checkered tablecloths and fat, squooshy booths were everywhere. At the far end of the room was a huge stage with live entertainment that the Hardys assumed went on non-stop. At the moment a pretty blond with limpid eyes in a blue dress sequined with starry diamonds was singing about lost love.

The entire right hand wall was made of glass. Behind it, in gallons and gallons of water two sharks, some exotic fish, an octopus, and various bottom feeders swam in a massive aquarium.

The walls were lined with lost art and everyone who paid court to Chet was dressed in finery of the best. Every checkered table had a red rose in a fine, crystal vase.

In the center of it all, was a large horseshoe, the biggest and squooshiest booth of them all. In the center sat Chet.

A mere 20 years old, Chet was the youngest crime boss ever. He had gotten the position the only way he could. He had shot his father.

Now he sat, ruling it all and doing a much better job of it than his father ever had. He was a young chubby man with curly dark hair, one errant curl, falling sexily on his brow. He was dressed in denim jeans and white t-shirt, with a black leather jacket and mirrored sunglasses. An ancient but classic outfit of a rebel. The only thing that spoiled the outfit was the dozen or so gold chains around his neck which were the symbols of his authority.

A guard met them outside the elevator. He held out a meaty hand. Without a word, Paul handed over the card.

The guard led them over to Chet. As soon as he spotted them, Chet cried out: “OK, Darla, that’s cool, babe, that’s cool. Take five.”

The singing blonde left the stage and there was relative quiet.

Chet made room and Paulo and the Hardy Boys slid into the booth.

“Thank you for seeing us, Boss Chet. We really had no idea what else…”

“Enough! So what brings you’se by?”

The Hardys were shocked at Paulo’s blatant attempt at brown nosing. He must really be scared, thought Frank.

“Sir,” Frank said, “We need your help. The Dudes of Domination, YIPPEE, tried to kill us today. They shut down our cyber group and destroyed our home and identities. We need new ones, temporary ones. We have a plan to shut YIPPEE down. Will you help us?”

“What’s in it for me?” Chet asked bluntly.

“Think about it. A lot of the things you are doing, wouldn’t have to be done illegally any more. You could go straight.” Seeing the warning signs on Chet’s face, Frank amended, “Or at least straighter. Think about it. No more looking over your shoulder all the time.”

Chet thought about it. “Hmmmm… You know, you could be right, greaseball. OK, here’s what I’m gonna do. I’ll give you, your fake IDs. But…” he continued over their thankful smiles, “They will only be valid for one day, tomorrow. “You have until then to…” he snickered, “Shut YIPPEE down.”

“Great!” the boys said.

Snapping his fingers, Chet summoned a thug and asked for two ID’s second class, ordering them like he was ordering a burger and fries. The thug bowed his way out of their presence.

Chet reached inside his leather jacket and drew out a small notebook.

“Now if you don’t mind, I like to write down the recipients names and the names they get changed to,” he said, “for office purposes, you dig?”

“Sure, Chet, sure,” Paulo said nervously, “Uhh, this is Frank Hardy and his brother Joe.”

His pencil was a millimeter away from the paper when is stopped. Bright spots of color appeared on his cheeks. “What did you say!?” he whispered.

“Uhh, Hardy,” Paulo said, even more nervously.

The pencil snapped.

Chet face had gone full blown red now. He drew off his sunglasses and the boys were terrified at the light shining out of his electric blue eyes.

“Hardys!!??” Here!?” he yelled. He growled loudly.

Several people in the pool caught the warning signs and began to pack their things. Others just threw something on, grabbed whatever they could and bolted for exits that the Hardys didn’t know existed.

“HARDYS!!! GRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!” Chet slowly rose up out of his seat.

More and more people looked over. Worried glances then frightened ones were exchanged among partiers. A few bolted.

“HARDYS!!!” Snorting like a Brahman bull, Chet overturned his table. Dishes and cutlery flew everywhere. The crystal vase with the rose was smashed.

Pandemonium reigned. People screamed and ran everywhere. A man got trampled.

Chet was in a trance. He lumbered forward smashing anything in his way, throwing a general tantrum. He reached the trampled man, picked him up and held him high over his head. Oblivious to his pleas for mercy, Chet threw him into a table, which collapsed. The man was knocked unconscious.

“Dudes, let’s bolt!” Frank whispered.

“What about the ID’s?” Joe objected.

“We’ll figure something else. This is a dead end. He’s crazy!” Frank returned.

The three boys started sneaking toward an exit. They were halfway there when they sensed more than saw Chet whip around and fix his insane, enraged gaze upon them.

“GET THEM! SEIZE THEM!

Two guards appeared out of nowhere in front of their exit door and two more appeared behind them. Within seconds they were locked in their burly grips.

Behind them, Chet continue to rant.

“GET THEM! GET THEM NOW! DON’T LET THEM ESCAPE! AND TIE THEM UP!!!”

* * *

Soon after…

Frank had never been in a more bizarre situation in all his life.

Both he and Joe had been stripped naked and bound hand and foot. Then they were hung upside down over the shark tank. Normally, a meshed catwalk covered the tank but Chet had ordered it removed. Between the boys was a huge barrel of chum. The barrel was attached to their ropes in such a way that if the barrel went up, they would go down.

Paulo was standing on a chair, also stripped and bound hand and foot. A noose was tight around his neck. His noose ran up and was attached to The Hardy Boys’ ropes. When they went down, he would go up.

Chet had stood with his arms crossed, and chest puffed out, ordering, supervising, but otherwise watching it all in grim silence.

When the gruesome tableau was finally set up, Chet finally addressed them.

“Finally! Finally I will be rid of you! Finally, I will be avenged!”

“DUDE!!! What are you talking about!?!?” the Hardy Boys screamed for what seemed like the millionth time.

“Don’t toy with me! You know exactly what I’m talking about!”

“No we don’t! We swear! Please let us go!” begged the Boys.

“Not a chance!” Chet snarled, “So! You really don’t know! I guess you don’t know your family history as well as you thought you did.”

“We know it well enough,” Joe cried, “We come from a long line of detectives who ate scum like you for breakfast!”

“Oh my! My, my my!!! How righteous! How noble! But perhaps you should dig a bit deeper into the archives! Then you would find that many generations ago, our two families used to be friends! Used to be, that is until, a Frank and Joe Hardy gave my forefather some marijuana for a sting, then botched it. My ancestor was sent to prison for 90 days for no reason! And Frank and Joe did nothing to stop it or release him!”

“I can’t believe anyone in our family would do anything so horrible!” Frank said.

“Believe it!” Chet snarled.

“OK. So, Chet was sent away for 90 days! That’s not so bad! Is that any reason to kill us?” Joe squirmed and struggled against his knots.

“Shut up, fuckup! The story ain’t over yet! So, it’s not so bad, eh? That’s just what the old Frank and Joe thought when they left Chet in the slammer! What they forgot about was that Chet was the sole breadwinner for his family! I don’t think they even realized he had a family. While Chet was rotting in the slammer, his wife had no way to pay the rent. She and her little boy were kicked out on the street. Chet’s little boy had to start stealing for them to survive. When Chet finally got out the three of them were left homeless and destitute. Because of his record, Chet couldn’t find a decent job. He was forced to join his son in more crime and so on! It’s your family’s fault that my family became what you see it today. Embroiled in crime and the underground forever! Stuck in hiding and constantly looking over our shoulders with no stability! And now you will pay for your ancestors’ sins and my family will at long last be avenged! YOU will be, heh heh, eaten for breakfast!”

Heedless of their apologies and begs of mercy, Chet climbed up to the top of the tank and carefully leaned out toward Frank. He pulled out a switchblade. Frank’s eyes widened.

Chet held the knife high over his head. Frank braced himself.

Chet swung the knife. He buried right to the hilt in a spot near the bottom of the barrel and pulled it out again. A stream of blood and bits of fish guts arced out of the barrel and splashed into the tank

The sharks down below went crazy. The smell of the blood whipped them into a feeding frenzy. They swam around crazily looking for the phantom food.

Chet put away his switchblade. He put on his sunglasses. He flipped up the collar of his leather jacket. Then, as an afterthought, he pulled something out of his jacket pocket. Two laminated ID s hit the catwalk.

“Here,” he said scornfully, “These won’t do me any good when they expire tomorrow. And they won’t do you any good when you’re dead! Enjoy them while you can!” He laughed cruelly.

Chet jumped down from the catwalk. Summoning the last remaining guards, he said, “Come on, boys, this pop stand’s closed. Let’s blow.”

And they did.

The barrel lightened and rose. The Hardy Boys slowly lowered. They were tortured with the sight of their goal so close and yet so far. The teeth on the sharks seemed to get longer and sharper by the second.

And as the Hardy Boys lowered, Paulo was stretched and then raised. He was on his tiptoes

Down.

Up.

“Frank!” Joe cried, “What about Fen-10?”

“They took my watch when they stripped me! I hate to say this, little bro, but this looks like it!”

Down. The frenzied sharks grew closer and closer.

Up.

Paulo’s feet left the chair.

To be continued...

This story is Copyright © 27 April 2005 by hypnojon32. All rights reserved.
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