I’ve reached a temporary impasse in my Great American NAVel, a point in the action at which I am stuck. Work brain, work. Delve that imagination. I am nearing the end, completion rising on the hazy horizon, and every piece of action matters greatly. Fear not! I’ve reached these impasses before, and have popped through like a cork shooting out of champagne. When you (my friends, and those who have never met me) finally hold the bound pages in your hands, oh ho ho, great laughter will ensue, and nail-biting, action-filled anticipation. The time has come to Whet the Whistle of any who feel curious. So here is a clip from deep into Underground Adventure…

Shoot Out at the North Pole

AKA came quietly around to the front of the house to give Jimmy Diamond his report. AKA’s low whisper informed him, “Boss Company clout comin’ through. Six of ‘em.”
Jimmy Diamond rubbed his cold, bald scalp, and decided, “Keep the guns quiet, amigos. We’ll follow these fools awhile, let ‘em take us to the party. Let’s get outta sight.” He crossed from the sidewalk to a snowy front lawn where a fiberglass Santa stood with a big red bag on his shoulder.
As the Sardini’s and AKA followed across the lawn, a man in slippers ran out of his house and to the edge of his porch waving his finger madly. “You get off my property,” he shouted. “You’re messing up the snow!”
One silenced bullet from Franco Sardini’s high-powered pistol shot Santa through both knees, and toppled him face down in the snow. The man’s madly waving finger froze in mid-air, and he turned quietly and disappeared back into the house.
“Let’s move,” said Jimmy Diamond, and they crept around to the backyard where Stiletto Nose Flamenco was tracking the Boss Company Generals with his sharp ears and eyes.

Thrashed in the Snow

Bryan Hirschman had his BB gun rifle over his shoulder and tremendous happiness, knowing that instead of his school’s cafeteria spaghetti he’d be eating chili loaded with nacho cheese, a basket of Mexican fries, and possibly a Mexican pizza. He turned to Howard “Fish” Scher and said, “Electricity or not, if Sam didn’t open up Nino’s, I’m breaking in! I need it bad!” Fish nodded enthusiastically and Bryan said, “You’ve still got some dog crap on your chin.”
Barry laughed a bubble of snot from his nose, but froze and slammed his eyes shut when behind them he heard Marc and Mitchell Buckner scream, “Look out! Look out!” Jay had just sprinted out from between the two houses they were passing, and was on them before Bryan could pump and aim his BB gun rifle. Arms stretched wide, Jay dove through the air and tackled Barry, Bryan and Fish to the snow in one wide grip. Fat Charlie ran thunderously to the edge of the pile, panting, laughing and pointing. “We got you! We got you! Want me to sit on them Jay? Jayhawk!”
Marc and Mitchell were a house length away, not sure what to do. They crept nervously closer.
The Jayhawk Terror focused his thrashing on the redhead. He landed a few hard punches in the stomachs and kidneys of the other two kids and left them rolling in the snow, unable to breathe, then dug his knees into the redhead’s back and rubbed his face violently in the snow, like grating cheese.
Fat Charlie just stood there snorting and laughing until his jaw dropped and his eyes opened wide with a stroke of genius. As the kid with the brown smear on his chin struggled to his hands and knees, Charlie kicked him over on his back then dropped to his knees, landing his big butt right onto the sniveling face. A muffled, high-pitched scream of terror dispersed into the twin-mountains of buttock followed by a loud, bubbling eruption and Charlie’s wild giggling. Another eruption followed immediately, and Charlie screeched with delight, “That was more than gas!”
Barry Solomon crawled desperately for safety, The Jayhawk Terror grabbed the BB gun rifle from the snow to break over the redhead’s back, Charlie pushed with all the might of his intestinal fortitude, and Fish lay smothering under the heavy load and gagging in the unbearable stench.
Marc and Mitchell watched in helpless horror, and then looked curiously past the thrashing of their friends to the nearby intersection of Allenswood Road where a large, dark, pirate-like man had walked out and came unnoticed to the edge of the beating. The man was disturbingly calm as he clapped Charlie’s fat head between the swing of two heavy mauls. Charlie’s head popped like a pimple, and in the very next instant, though there was no sound of gunshot explosions, the pirate-like man had an outbreak of bullet-holes in his head, and collapsed forward on top of the fat, dead friend of The Jayhawk Terror.

Forming a Posse

Mr. Parks sat on a chair pulling on his snow boots and watching through his back window to where the crazy man who had shot his Santa was crossing out of his backyard. This crazy and the four others with him were obviously criminally insane. “They’re criminally insane,” murmured Mr. Parks. “And they’ve got guns. Cookie! Cookie!” His wife was in the kitchen baking brownies in their gas oven by the light from the windows. Mr. Parks got his coat and a baseball bat from the front closet. “Cookie! I’m going out for a bit!” He opened the front door, and stared with seething anger at the ruined Santa and the tromping of his snow.
Mrs. Parks called, “Porkie, darling? Are you wearing your hat?” Mr. Parks turned back to the closet and grabbed a green wool cap with earflaps. His wife warned, “Are you wearing your scarf?”
“Yes!” he shouted as he yanked his green scarf off the closet’s shelf, and then spotting his sharp pointed umbrella, he grabbed that too.
Mr. Parks ran out of the house, and to his next-door neighbor opposite from the direction the crazies had gone. He banged wildly until Mr. Garland opened the door, mouth stretched wide in mid-yawn. “What’s up, Milo?”
“Norton, you have a gun, don’t you?”
“Shotgun. Want to shoot some crows? Your TV working?”
“No, Norton! Listen! Some criminally insane perverts escaped from the Spring Grove nuthouse. I saw them! They shot my Santa. Our wives aren’t safe. Norton, your dog isn’t safe, and the phone’s are dead. We’ve got to form a posse.”
Mr. Garland laughed. “A posse? You’ve been watching too much TV. They shot your Santa?”
“Yes! They’re crazy! I told you!”
“Well, my TV’s not working. You’re TV working?” Mr. Garland looked past Mr. Parks at the empty porch and laughed. “I’ll join your posse. Because you’re lucky I don’t have a job.”
“The electricity’s out all over the place! Half the block’s home from work. Look at my lawn, Norton! We’re losing time!” Mr. Parks ran off of Mr. Garland’s front porch and to the Beggs’ house next door, careful not to tromp the freshly laid snow.

Allenswood Road

Jimmy Diamond’s crew kept a ten-house distance from the pack of Boss Company Generals who walked boldly down the middle of Allenswood Road on a collision course with Offut Road and the young friends and enemies of Dave and Rich. Jimmy Diamond and the Sardini brothers moved through the snowy backyards, ready at the slightest signal to jump into gun-blazing action, while AKA and Stiletto Nose Flamenco were around front, stalking the Boss Company death pack with skillful, invisible stealth. All the while, Mr. Parks was marching house to house in the opposite direction forming his posse of bored neighbors with an angry and desperate insistence.

The Death of Hammer Johnson

The Hag scratched at a scab on her face, and watched with her yellow eyes the Unipsycho swatting wildly at the air around his moustache. She pointed suddenly and with hissing laughter creaked, “Here comes another! Best look out!”
Sheik Shriek sidled up to Eel Lichtenstein and nodded his blood splotched turban at the Unipsycho’s arm-wheeling hysterics. “Oomp! I ask you this, Lichtenstein, how comes this to be a General? The Boss is not the one for understanding by me. Oomp, Lichtenstein! Am I to forget that the Boss of me you are today?”
Eel Lichtenstein skulked down the road, leading the hunting party, his eyebrows low over his angry eyes.
“A question once more, if permitted me, Lichtenstein. These who we hunt are not to be found. Perhaps are we to be broken, as the expression, taking of rest. There are lives in these windows we pass without thought, faces I see.” Sheik Shriek sniffed the air hungrily, and leaned his mouth to Eel Lichtenstein’s ear, whispering with zeal, “This houses! Lives have waited lifetimes to be killed by me! Lichtenstein! Oomp! So little to ask of… gluck!”
Eel Lichtenstein’s elbow crushed the voice out of Sheik Shriek’s neck, ending the conversation.
Hammer Johnson’s head shot up at the faint sound of kids’ voices. He clapped his mauls together in ready excitement. “Bent Blade” Benny Anonoma heard the voices too, but kept silent as Hammer Johnson quickly strode next to Eel Lichtenstein. “You hear that?”
“I hear what?” Eel asked irritably, anger in his cloudy eyes.
From somewhere around the corner of the intersection ahead a kid’s voice shouted, “Look out! Look out!”
“That’s the kids,” said Hammer Johnson, clapping his heavy mauls repeatedly. “They say one kid’s got hammer’s for hands. He’s mine Lichtenstein.”
“Ya stay put,” answered Eel. “Dem kids is for da Boss. We got a mission ain’t dem kids. Ya hear me! Stay put!”
Hammer Johnson was off in long strides toward the intersection. Eel Lichtenstein muttered through clenched teeth to the others. “Don’t none of ya move a step.” He pulled out the long-barreled pistol he kept in the leg of his pants, and stormed after Hammer Johnson, muttering, “Orders was ta kill dem other ones got outta his Complex.”
Eel Lichtenstein came to the intersection in time to see Hammer Johnson’s two mauls squash the head of a fat kid sitting on another kid’s face. Bullets from his long-barreled pistol filled the mutinous Hammer Johnson’s head, and Eel Lichtenstein muttered, “Next time ya’ll listen.” His fast eyes scanned the kids in the fight. “Ain’t even da right kids,” he growled furiously, and turned back to his pack of killer Generals.

Surprise Alliance

The sound of Charlie’s head popping distracted The Jayhawk Terror from his grinding of the redheaded kid’s face in the snow. The Jayhawk Terror looked, saw the man with the hammers as his head filled with bullet holes, and leapt instantly off of the redhead, looking in all directions. The assassin of Charlie’s killer had already disappeared.
Marc and Mitchell were frozen, staring in disbelief at the first two killings they’d ever seen, while Bryan, freed from the weight of the pummeling Jay, jumped up, temporarily blinded by snow in his eyes, and swung his fists wildly. Jay gave him a slap across the head that knocked the snow out of his eyes, but didn’t calm him down. “Come on!” screamed Bryan. “Bring it on!”
“I’ll finish kicking your runt punk face in later,” snarled Jay
Then Bryan noticed the two dead bodies, and immediately started searching the snow for his BB gun rifle.
Barry screamed, “We gotta go! We gotta go!” and took off running. Marc and Mitchell came unstuck from their frozen terror, and Marc sprinted past Bryan and up Offut Road, while Mitchell followed as fast as his crutches would move him. Bryan found his BB gun and followed his running friends, while Jay charged straight at Mitchell, who dropped his crutches, closed his eyes and screamed. Jay lifted Mitchell over his shoulder and didn’t body-slam him to the snow. Instead, the unlikely ally took off running after Marc and Bryan and Barry with Mitchell bouncing along on his shoulder trying to scream, “My crutches!” But The Jayhawk Terror wasn’t listening.
They were almost all the way to Liberty Road, and all panting for breath, before they slowed down at all. By then, Marc was at the rear of the pack, and when he caught up to the others he bent over, breathing heavy, and gasped out as best as he could, “We forgot Fish.”
Barry yelped, “Howard! Oh no!” And Mitchell, from over Jay’s shoulder said, “He’s dead! That’s the guy that killed Dave and Rich! It’s gotta be!”
“No!” screamed Barry.
Marc said, “Wait a second. If that’s the guy that killed Dave and Rich, then who killed that guy?”
Bryan, whose face was dark red and still stinging like crazy from being mashed in the snow, said, “Let’s get out of sight and into Nino Taco fast!”
They walked quickly the rest of the way to Liberty Road, looking suspiciously in all directions. At the dead traffic light of Liberty Road they turned left toward a simple white sign with plain black letters spelling the glorious words Nino Taco, and despite the danger they were in, all of them but Jay had their mouths fill instantly with saliva.

Toward the Best Hiding Place in the World

As Dave and Rich and Sandy limping at their side led the way through the sticker bushes and thin, sharp branches of the thick woods behind Amy Lane, Deborah Mandell walked close to Debbie, as close as she could get, and Debbie kept tripping over her but she didn’t mind. Paul followed the girls, his hand wrapped around the pocketknife in his pocket. He was confused why Grant Goods had stayed behind. Killette hadn’t said anything since they’d left Grant at the tree-fort. She hovered on her spiked sphere, at the back of the line, knowing that even injured, Sandy’s strong canine nose and ears would be their best warning of danger ahead.
When they came out of the woods, they were near Randallstown High School again, at the corner of Meadow Heights and Offut Road. Following their natural instinct, Dave and Rich were leading them toward the place they had hardly stopped thinking about since they’d first gotten hungry as prisoners in Boss’ Underground Complex. The place, of course, was Nino Taco. Dave didn’t have to say a word to Rich. They both knew the truth, that there could not possibly be a more superior place to hide out in Randallstown then the best place in the world to eat lunch.
Cautiously exiting the woods, Dave and Rich led the journey across Meadow Heights Road, through the back yards, across the stream, to the backyards of Allenswood Road, and out to Offut Road where they stopped. Hiding behind a car snowbound in its driveway, they peeked out to where a pair of green rubber boots was kicking madly from underneath two large, nearly headless bodies.

Getting Directions

Octopus Man walked angrily up Amy Lane with Octopus Head shoulder to shoulder beside him, both of them storming fast, unwilling to let the other lead the way. The crippled yellow hatchback drove past them and disappeared around the corner at the top of the street, and Octopus Head grumbled, “I are to accept this? A partnership with this false octopus?”
“Keep grumblin’,” grumbled Octopus Man, and spat an orange wad of chewed up goldfish onto the snow. “We gotta find this dam quick as we can, blow it, drown this pukin’ town, and get you outta my face.”
Octopus Head grunted, and reached a tentacle into his nearly empty bag of goldfish.
At the top of Amy Lane they stopped, neither knowing which way led to Liberty Road and the dam. Traffic was sparse due to the weather, but soon they saw a black pick-up truck with extra-large tires coming their way. “I’ll handle this,” said Octopus Man, and Octopus Head stepped into the street saying, “I’ll handle this.”
Octopus Man closed his eyes and breathed deep, mumbling to himself, “He ain’t gonna live much longer.” Then he stepped into the street with his rival and said, “Listen up, Head. Ain’t no scared civilian gonna stop and tell ya nothin’ about no Liberty Dam without ya having ta kill ‘em first. Ya know good as me ain’t no civilian gonna talk to a octopus where a head’s supposed ta be, and we ain’t got time for talkin’ ta no dead men.”
“I’ll handle this,” said Octopus Head, and charged, shoving Octopus Man with his huge shoulder into the path of the slow moving pick-up truck. The truck slammed on its brakes and slid sideways in the snow.
The driver’s door opened before the truck had fully stopped, and a large man in an orange hunting cap jumped out. “What’s that?!” shrieked the driver, ignoring Octopus Man and pointing at Octopus Head’s head. Octopus Man stepped to the man, put his arm around the flabby neck and whispered in his ear, “That’s somethin’ that shoulda been dead long time ago. Now, do me the favor a pointin’ me ta Liberty Dam.” Razor-sharp beaks at the center of two suckers on Octopus Man’s arm chewed into the man’s neck, emphasizing the point that he wasn’t planning on waiting long for his answer.

Ghosts

Dave’s and Rich’s feet slid in the snow as they pushed at the dead bodies while the injured Sandy tugged weakly with her teeth at the kicking, green rubber boots sticking out from underneath. Killette stayed in the driveway behind the snowbound car with Deborah, Debbie and Paul. She was depressed, angry about leaving Grant, and in no mood to take any more kids into her protection.
While Dave and Rich shoved the bodies, Fish struggled from underneath, and soon was able to wriggle himself free. He rolled to his belly and pushed to his hands and knees, taking deep breaths to fill his suffocated lungs, then slowly turned his head to see who had come to help him. When he saw it was Dave and Rich, he jumped to his feet and ran, screaming, “Ghosts!”
Dave laughed, and Rich yelled after him, “Fish! Wait up! What in the kingdom of crap are you running from?”
Fish stopped running, a house length away, and turned to see if his oxygen-deprived eyes and ears were playing tricks on him. “Ghosts?” he asked, and walked slowly back toward them. He glanced at the unmoving pile he’d been trapped underneath, and then ran a wide arc around the bodies, screaming, “You’re alive! You’re alive!” He wrapped Dave and Rich in a huge hug.
“Whoa sweetheart,” said Rich. And Dave said, “Howie, will you marry me?”
Paul came out from behind the car with the deep cut on his cheek aimed proudly toward Howard, and said, “Hi.”
Fish’s jaw dropped. He said, “You’re all alive?” Then Deborah and Debbie stood up and came around the car. When Killette followed, hovering on her deadly, spiked sphere, Fish turned to run again, then thought better of it and turned back. He pointed and said, “What the crap is that?”
Killette said, “Easy kid.” And Dave said, “Killette this is our friend Howard, but you can call him Fish.”
Fish said, “I don’t know what’s going on. Maybe I’m dead.”
Rich laughed, “Well, dead or alive, we’re on our way to heaven, known to some mortals as Nino Taco. You coming?”
Fish nodded.

Drivers

Octopus Head had a tentacle in the bag he wore high on his back. He was counting goldfish, unhappy to find only four left. He plucked one out and popped it in his mouth, the eyes of his octopus staring hatefully into the eyes of Octopus Man. “I told you, I are to drive this.” He and Octopus Man both had a hand on the driver-side door handle of the black pick-up truck.
Octopus Man sucked slowly on a goldfish, fighting to stay calm, and said, “Move that hand, Head.”
“The matter is fact, you are to steal separate vehicle, false octopus. I are to drive. You are to follow.”
“Head, we got a job. I’m gonna kill ya, but not ‘til we get da job done. Hear me, Head, ya idiot?”
Octopus Head in a rage swallowed his goldfish before he’d chewed all the juice out of it, and said, “No. No. I are to kill you, not until the job are done. Hear me, idiot? You are to owe me goldfish. I swallowed before I are ready.”
An old brown car, even longer than the pick-up truck, drove slowly toward them, and the rivals stopped arguing to watch the approaching vehicle. Octopus Head scoffed, “I are to do everything.” He let go the pick-up truck’s door handle and bent to lift the former driver off of the slush-covered street. He hoisted the limp body over his head, and as the big brown car came even with the pick-up truck’s back bumper, Octopus Head hurled with all his strength.
A tiny, ninety-plus-year-old man wearing glasses that covered most of his face stopped the big brown car, and stepped slowly out. “Are you okay, sir?” he asked the body lying across his smashed windshield. “I didn’t see you crossing. I have automobile insurance.”
Octopus Head looked back as the pick-up truck’s driver door slammed shut. The big tires spun momentarily in the slush, then launched the truck into motion. Octopus Head, screeched with all the power in his lungs, “Wrong vehicle! False octopus! Mine!”
The tiny old man tugged on Octopus Head’s sleeve and said, “Again? Say again? In my good ear.”
Octopus Head shoved the old man aside and climbed into the driver seat of the big brown car. He got out, tossed the body from the smashed windshield to the street, then climbed back in. “I are to kill you false octopus,” he muttered, and plucking a goldfish from his bag he followed Octopus Man in the direction the body on the street had told them led to Liberty Dam.

Power Struggle

The posse had grown. Mr. Parks’ desperate insistence that criminally insane perverts had escaped from Spring Grove and were stalking the neighborhood had piqued the interest of bored neighbors who had no electricity, and therefore no TV. Under such circumstances they found it easy to join a growing mob. Mr. Parks’ posse had eleven men, three women, three shotguns, one pistol, three baseball bats, two axes, two hammers, a screwdriver, five large kitchen knives, a pair of scissors, and one pointy umbrella by the time it reached the intersection of Allenswood and Brenbrook Roads. Here the posse came upon the large, gruff-mannered Mr. Douglas backing his snowplow-equipped pick-up truck into his driveway.
“What’s this?” Mr. Douglas shouted at the approaching mob. He jumped down from the seat of his truck and stomped heavily toward them.
Mr. Douglas was huge, had a deep red scar above his eye, shouted when he spoke, and was therefore very intimidating. The posse shuffled their feet and looked to Mr. Parks who cleared his throat and said, “Stand back. We’ve got criminally insane perverts on the loose.” His voice sounded small.
Mr. Douglas squinted his eyes at Mr. Parks, then grabbed his belly and erupted in deep, bellowing laughter. “Perverts!” he shouted. “That’s good. That’s a good one. That’s good.”
“Stop laughing,” said Mr. Parks, aware that the posse was watching. He had to assert his leadership.
But Mr. Douglas kept laughing, and he shouted to Mr. Parks, “Go home and have a tuna sandwich!”
Some of the posse was beginning to laugh along with Mr. Douglas, and some were sheepishly hiding their weapons behind their backs, and Mr. Parks’ face was turning bright red between his green wool cap with earflaps and the matching green scarf.
Suddenly Mr. Parks dropped his baseball bat, gripped his pointy umbrella in both hands, and screeched in a high-pitched squeal of rage, “I said stop laughing!” He charged point first with his umbrella at Mr. Douglas’ enormous belly.
Mr. Douglas’ eyes went wide with surprise, and he bellowed, “Ouch!” as the umbrella poked him hard, but didn’t penetrate the thick canvas of his heavy coat.
Mr. Parks froze. Behind him the posse stared hungrily. Mr. Parks threw down his umbrella and raised his hands in exasperation. “I could have killed you if I wanted! I decided not to! Okay? There’s criminally insane perverts out there and that’s who we’ve got to kill! Okay? Now are we together on this!”
Mr. Parks turned to face his posse, and Mr. Douglas kicked him in the butt so hard that it lifted him four feet off the ground. “I’m in,” said Mr. Douglas in his loud, deep voice. “I’ll go get my wrench.”