“Oh, man. Guys, guys,” said William H. Taft XLII, “I totally just realized the irony of this whole thing.”
“Huh?” inquired Queen Victoria XXX.
“’Cause they’re all blue-collar guys and we’re all politicians and royalty or whatever.”
“Yeah, that’s… that’s great, Billy,” said Chester A. Arthur XVII.
“They’re rising up! Taking their vengeance against the aristocracy!”
“I’m pretty sure they’re not thinking of it like that,” replied Queen Victoria XXX.
“A couple of them are playing hackysack with a cat,” added Chester A. Arthur XVII, futilely attempting to point his head in their direction.
“Where the hell did they get a cat?”
“Oh, come on,” continued William H. Taft XLII. “You don’t think accidentally inciting a Communist revolution is funny?"
"Not really, no,” answered Chester A. Arthur XVII.
“You think they’re related?”
“What?”
“You know,” explained William H. Taft XLII, “like the Marx brothers.”
“Dude.”
“You’re the reason some animals eat their young, Billy,” said Queen Victoria XXX.
Twenty-Nine: Torsos-a-Go-Go
“Look, I’m telling you,” said Thor, sitting atop the Holiday Inn’s concierge desk, “Steve McQueen would win in a fight.”
“And I’m telling you,” said Catrina, sitting in a chair behind the desk, “Burt Reynolds’ mustache is more of a man than Steve McQueen ever was.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Oh, come on, admit it. McQueen was just a spoiled pretty boy. Burt Reynolds was the embodiment of badassedness in the seventies.”
“That owed as much to the Trans Am as it did to him.”
“Burt Reynolds’ mustache would kick Steve McQueen’s ass.”
“How, Catrina? It’s hair!”
“That’s just how fucking awesome it is.”
“That’s absurd,” argued Thor. “You know what, we’re gonna settle this right now.”
“Yeah?”
“Might even be able to make some money off of it, too,” continued Thor. “I read about some dude somewhere who’s renting out zombies to ghosts. Apparently ghosts’re getting tired of being the internet’s bitches and actually dumb enough to pay to be corporeal again.”
“Dumb enough? You saying you’re too cool to drop a couple dollars to live again?”
“Hell yeah, I am. Ethereal immortality is the way to be. I have had nothing but issues with this meat suit since I got it.”
“Oh, right, yeah. I forgot Mr. Big Bad Norse God is really just a whiny little bitch.”
Catrina pouted her lips and proceeded to mock Thor, her approximation of his voice a spot-on mix of him and a pissy six-year-old girclass="underline"
“Oh, I’m a human now, boo hoo. I keep having problems because I’m stupid and dumb and too stubborn to listen to Catrina, wah.”
“Instead of insulting me,” said Thor, “you should be tracking down the ghosts of Steve McQueen and the Bandit’s mustache and convincing them to fight each other.”
He hopped off the desk.
“I’m gonna go rustle up some bodies for ‘em.”
At precisely that moment, a pair of torsos was hurled through the glass doors of the hotel and into the lobby.
“Will those do?” asked Catrina.
“Nope.”
Two more torsos bounced into the lobby.
“OK,” said Thor. “What the hell.”
Thirty: Ding, Dong, Ding
Thor and Catrina stood in the broken, busted-up foyer of the Secaucus Holiday Inn and looked out over the plaza. Before them was an enormous, bulging werewolf, juggling a variety of appendages and heads with admirable skill.
“That’s new,” commented Catrina.
Thor scanned the rest of the plaza. To the left of what he had been assuming was some kind of escaped circus animal were three scientists: one looking on with curiosity, one looking on with a burlap sack over her head, and one sitting on the ground, clutching his knees and weeping. Thor pointed them out to Catrina.
“Think we should go talk to them?” he asked.
“You are aware of the giant wolfman between them and us, correct?”
“Yes.”
“The one playing with body parts?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re aware that we’re made of body parts, right?”
“Yes.”
“And you still think it’s smart to go over there?”
“Verily.”
“OK,” said Catrina, nodding her head, “have fun with that. If you need me, I’ll be grabbing the axe from the break room and then locking myself upstairs and hiding under my bed.”
“Like an axe is gonna hurt that thing,” replied Thor. “Besides, you know we never clean under the beds. There’s bound to be something just as terrible living under there.”
“Damn,” said Catrina, confused and upset that she was forced to agree with Thor. More importantly, that she was sober when doing so.
“Fine,” she relented. “But if you get me killed, I’m coming back and haunting the shit out of you. And I mean constantly. When you’re asleep, in the shower, when you’re flirting up some senorita, whatever. I’m not gonna be nice about it.”
“We’ll be fine,” replied Thor. “Just stay with me.”
He grabbed her hand and led her around the edge of the plaza toward the scientists.
The beast, singing “Frere Jacques” and balancing a severed arm on its nose, didn’t seem to notice.
Thirty-One: It’s Always the Completely Batshit Insane Ones
Thor and Catrina reached the scientists just as it began to rain.
“Yo,” said Thor.
“Yo, indeed,” said Dr. Lalas. “I’m Dr. Alexi Lalas; this is my assistant, Julie.”
“Judy,” said Judy.
“Judy,” said Dr. Lalas. “And this,” he patted the still weeping Dr. Meola on the head, “is Dr. Meola.”
“Thor,” said Thor, nodding and extending his hand.
“Catrina,” said Catrina, doing the same.
“Nice to meet you,” said Dr. Lalas, shaking Thor’s hand.
“Pleasure,” said Judy, shaking Catrina’s.
The foursome switched partners and continued the introductory hand-clasping. Once finished, they stood in the plaza silently, looking at one another with complete neutrality. The rain continued to fall.
Judy pulled her lab coat tighter. Catrina crossed her arms across her chest and huddled closer to Thor.
Dr. Lalas smiled weakly and nodded at the hotel employees.
The rain began falling harder.
“So, uh, what the hell is that?” asked Thor, pointing a thumb at the super-wolfman, which was now standing on its hands and juggling scientist pieces with its feet.
“That,” said Dr. Lalas, “is test subject 37-E, a hybrid of a werewolf and an irradiated, mutated human, engineered to be preternaturally aggressive, intelligent, and athletic.”
Thor nodded in agreement a few times before blurting out, “Why in the holy fuck would you do that?!”
“Kinda just… because we could. Basically.”
“Who,” asked Catrina, “is it juggling?”
“My associate, Dr. Ramos.”
Judy cleared her throat aggressively.
“And a couple of interns.”
“They had names, damn it!” said Judy.
“Yes, yes, Jamie,” said Dr. Lalas, “I’m sure they did.”
Judy screamed incoherently, then pulled out a revolver from inside her lab coat and shot Dr. Lalas in the leg.
“Gah, fuck,” he said, before folding to the ground like a deck of cards made of meat and bone and possessing a doctorate.
“Crazy bitch…” he continued, before Judy shot him again, twice, in the face.
Thor and Catrina stared at her, wide-eyed. They took a step back. Slowly.