SG: WCD #48 Foxy Flashback

[Lawrence Brown]

   It would have been nice had there been thick ropes of mist filling the
air, mused Clark, as he took a moment apart from his troops in which to
reflect. Not that there was even the remotest possibility of mist in a
moisture-starved environment like this desert; but it just seemed right
for the quiet before battle to have its symbolic import accentuated by a
bit of mist. The only fog there was evaporated the moment it cleared the
canyon's edges.
Still, one went to war with the metaphors one had and not the metaphors
one wished to have. Clark pondered the spaceport tower ahead of him and
mentally mapped his plan of attack. There were plenty of entrances, but
all were barred save for the main port way, where large loader vehicles
hovered their way into and out of the quiet stellar crossroads.
Normally, Clark would be leery of a frontal assault... but he had two
very compelling reasons to consider it this time around. First, this
port was quiet enough that he was willing to bet the snakes who worked
in it weren't exactly on high alert. And secondly, the valley in which
the towering port had been built would funnel his men into single-file
formation should they approach from anywhere but the front.
   All right then. It was time for a rush'n'attack, which was the combat
equivalent of a snatch'n'grab. It wasn't particularly elegant, but
sometimes it was all that you had. Flicking the cat's whiskers of laser
communications to the rest of his cadre, Clark began to relay his
orders.
   "We're going for a full frontal. Not my first choice, but if we can get
inside before they can counter, we're going to have cover galore.
Watch out for the drivers and whoever they have working the snake
warehouse in there; if they're civvies, I want them excluded from the
battle as best as you can manage. If they draw on you, they're combatants
and the asking questions portion of the evening is over.
Squad one, I want you taking left approach. Ninja, you and Davis guard the
ship and our captive. Squad two, you guessed it; you're going right.
Spectrum, TDSM and Foxy, keep behind the two flanks until we've made it
inside... and then you two have point. Clear?"
The chorus of 'clear!'s made Clark smile to himself. He rose from behind
the rock that had provided him with dubious cover and raised his
sidearm.
   "GO!"


***

WEST COAST DEFENDERS #48: FOXY FLASHBACK

Costarring Aurora and the West Coast Defenders

By Lawrence Brown and Chris Angelini "We reseach, because we care."


***

"How are you holding up?"  Doctor Sloan spoke softly. He slipped a sensor
cuff on British Airwave while the rest of the bridge was focused on the
events below.

"Just a bit tired to be honest."  He leaned towards the Doctor and
whispered, "My prescription ran out last night."

"Perhaps you should go to sickbay." Dr. Sloan knitted his brow.

"Perhaps you should go shag yourself in the airlock."  Randall frowned.
"We had a deal."

The doctor pulled the cuff off.  "Marginally normal. Try to stay that way
for today, eh?"

Randall gazed at the icons on the screen, a fast-moving pair on the side
designated Spectrum and Foxy.  Something had seemed off about them this
morning before launch.  Spectrum had shook his hand as he wished them
luck, but Foxy wouldn't even look at him.  She looked smaller, maybe a
little frightened, but strangely cold. All business as they made their way
to the drop-ship.  Nothing like when he'd first met her, so long ago.

***

The bouncer at the door was an amateur; one glance in his eyes told
Randall that. The oafish lout relied on bulk, and attitude to intimidate.
Well, that and poor personal hygiene, he mentally added to himself as he
walked past the man.  A thin woman with dark circles under her eyes sat
behind the cashier's window.  "Hey Pops, looking for a little excitement
again, eh?  $10 cover, 2 drink minimum and watch the hands, okay sugar?"
She snapped a worn piece of gum as she regarded him, making change for the
$100 bill he offered. She pushed a raven tress from her eye as she slid
back a small stack of ones and fives through the pay slot.

"Thank you.  Is she working again today?"

The woman made a sour face.  "Yeah she's here.  Listen, if you decide to
try something more normal, maybe you should talk to Misty.  She's running
a special on dances."  Her eyes followed him as he stepped to the door,
waited for the obligatory buzz, and pulled the door open.

He felt, rather than heard the music as the door swung open. He breathed
in the combination of stale cigarette smoke, alcohol, and copycat perfume.
He blinked as his eyes quickly adjusted to the low light.  8 men present,
counting the barkeeper, DJ, and busboy. It was another slow happy hour.
Two frat boys on the front row, a middle aged man on an expense account in
the plush love seats a row back, another who seemed more interested in the
cheap beer than the entertainment, and one other, whose eyes darted around
the room like a rodent looking out for a trap.
Randall strode to the far side, along the back wall, and positioned
himself where he had a good view of the room and the stage.  At the
moment, a bored redhead with ivory skin and a belly tattoo was gyrating
absently, her mind obviously not on her craft or her audience, moving from
station to station and position to position with little energy.
The frat boys hooted excitedly, slapping down bills on the edge of the
stage, competing with each other to see who could gain her attention.

"What your pleasure, honey?"  An Asian woman with a drink tray laid a
coaster along with a basket of popcorn at his table, her age masterfully
concealed by her distractingly low cut gown, and well done makeup.

"Cognac, if you have it. H by Hine?"

"Like I told you last time, would have some Remy Martin but the truck not
due until tomorrow, so we out."

"Old Rip Van Winkle then, if you please."

Randall feigned inattention, as he watched the rodent get up and then
casually stroll to the pool table as if he was considering a game, then
while the Asian strutted away to fill Randall's drink order, he quietly
took a new table where his back was not to Randall.

The music reached its end amid the light patter from several of the men in
the room as the redhead scooped up her money and, flashing a wan smile at
the boys up front, she gathered her outfit and strode backstage.  The DJ
announced the next dancer, and a tall African woman slinked onto the
runway to the grating monotony of a generic rap song, bouncing the "junk
in her trunk" frequently in the direction of the now interested
businessman.  Randall sighed inwardly and rolled his eyes.

"Don't worry, she up next." The Asian woman smiled knowingly and served
him his drink, making sure to lean over just a little extra to ensure a
good tip.  "You want me to move you to front row?"

"Thank you, but no, I prefer to admire her from afar."  He looked at the
Asian and she raised an eyebrow seductively.   He placed a hundred dollar
bill on her tray, and glancing at her name tag he replied, "Ping, if you
would be so kind, that should cover the drinks, your tip, and some tips
for the other dancers. I'd prefer if they did not hit me with the hard
sell tonight."

"Ping my twin sister." She glanced down at the tag.  "Whoops. Honest
mistake. I am Pong." She laughed, "Long story.  Suffice to say Colonel
Papa-san had a sense of humor. I pass the word, but pickings slim so far
tonight.  As long as birthday boys up front keep the tips coming, you
should be fine."

"Lovely."  He was quietly pleased that he had determined who the
proprietor of the establishment was.  He had narrowed it down to the Asian
woman, correction, women, or perhaps the Deejay.  It was obvious to him
that the bartender was not the owner.  Why slip the occasional greenback
from your own till?

Mr. Expense Account had finally imbibed enough liquid courage to walk up
to the stage and timidly began waving a fiver.  The dancer, the
aforementioned black woman named Misty, ground her hips near the man as he
excitedly slipped the bill into her thong. She turned and hugged him, his
face momentarily buried in her chest, and then she was off to welcome a
construction worker who had just pulled up another chair on the front row.

He sipped the drink thoughtfully and watched as the song ended.  The
redhead had already changed, and was leading one of the frat boys off to a
curtained area.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, let's have a round of applause for the mysterious,
the exotic, the one and only Foxy Lady!"  Amid cheers and applause, the
rock beat of 38 Special's "20th Century Fox" pounded out of the speakers,
and Foxy bounced on stage, vaulting to the top of a dancers pole and then
swiveling down the brass until she curled seductively at the bottom her
tail momentarily a veil as she vamped the customers with her eyes.  Not
missing a beat, she danced with a joy for dancing, and aside from a
momentary glare she bestowed on the hardhat who decided to tug on her tail
during a pirouette, she was sunny and sexy and full of energy.

The song ended, and applause volume was higher for her than the other
performers. The thin brunette now had her turn on the catwalk, and the
look she gave Foxy as the pair passed was daggers.
The rodent leered and waved a dollar as Foxy strode up the catwalk, and
she barely broke stride as she ignored his tip and went backstage.

Randall leaned back and sipped his drink, pondering the next step.  The
rodent had stomped over to Pong and was gesturing, then waving a fifty
under her nose. Minutes later Foxy glided into the room and made her way
to the bar, where she was intercepted by Pong.  Pongs staccato voice was
muted by the bar sounds, but she pointed towards the rodent, who was
leaning back and smiling. More gestures and pointing, and then Pong
crossed her arms.  Foxy's shoulders sank minutely and she shrugged.
Pong patted her head, and then pointed up at Randall.  Foxy turned and
trudged up the aisle to his table, carrying Randall's second bourbon on a
tray.

Foxy softly spoke to Randall, her eyes looking at the table. "Um, could
I interest you in a dance?  We have a happy hour special, with a twenty
dollar table dance, or a fifty dollar private."

Randall regarded her.  "Don't you already have a client, ahem, waiting?"

"Look Mister, if you want, I'll give you two privates for the price of
one, and I'll even let you play with my tail."  She glanced back at the
other man, who seemed a bit put off even from across the room.

"What about a 1 hour special?" He opened his wallet.

She put a paw over his hand.  "Look, I just dance, okay?  I don't do that.
Ask Misty or Vanessa if you want that kind of service.  I'm just asking
because I can't turn down a customer unless I have a better offer.  Sorry
to bother you."

He stopped her.  "Two hundred dollars for an hour special and we just
talk. You don't even have to dance.  That's your fee and the tip you can
show Pong." He slid a five hundred dollar bill slowly toward her paw.
"And you get this when we are done, on the side."

She tilted her head and her ears twitched. "No perv stuff, just talking?"

"On my word as an English gentleman." He looked into her eyes.

"We'll use the VIP room. There's a bottle charge for the complementary
champagne..."

"If it's complementary why must I pay for it?"  He sighed and put down
another bill.

She giggled and snatched up the money, and made a beeline for Pong.
Then a minute later, a bottle of champagne and two flutes in her paws, she
wiggled down past the stage area to the curtains and beckoned to Randall
to follow. The rodent left the club in a huff, nearly colliding with the
bouncer who was advancing towards Foxy and Randall.

The bouncer smiled, showing stained teeth. His gravelly voice was even
less attractive than his breath. "Okay no monkey biz, kay?  You try
something wit her and we get tah play name the HMO, mmmkay?"

"I'll keep my hands to myself."  Randall nodded.

"Oh, I didn't say that...." The bouncer leered at the pair, then turning;
he took up his station outside the curtains, watching the stage and the
front door.

Once settled in the VIP room, with its satin pillows and mirror ball,
Foxy adjusted the volume level so that the songs could be heard but their
conversation would not be affected.  She took the flutes and poured the
drinks, handing one to Randall with a flourish.  "Alright, the meter's
running, what do you want to talk about?"

"Randall."

"Hmm?" She arched an eyebrow quizzically.

"My name is Randall Ames."

"Hi Randy, I'm Foxy Lady."

"Randall, if you please. That's not a stage name?"

"Why bother?  It's my name, why bother with anything else.  It's not like
I'm going to embarrass anyone in my family.  You have to have a family for
that."

"No family?  So then, tell me, how did you get here?"

"You from the Weekly World Smooze?"

"Hardly."

"You a cop?"

"No.  Let us just say I represent an organization that is distinctly
interested in your welfare and wants you to experience a much better life
than you do now. And possibly discuss a special position for you?"

"Oh my God.  Did Bill Clinton send you?"

"Who was that unsavory chap that I rescued you from?"

"I'd rather not say."

"Ah ah ah!"  Randall gently waved the five hundred dollar bill, "We're on
the clock as you noted, and as the piper is currently under my employ, I
must insist."

"Why do you want to know?"

"Call it curiosity.  I got the distinct impression that you know each
other in some fashion off stage."

Foxy looked down at her paws and sat next to Randall, taking a sip from
the champagne, she growled, "Benny's a bum.  A shark.  I needed some
money. He was all sweetness and light, until it came time to pay the bill,
then he added in the monthly fees, the ATM charges, the NSF fees, the
account processing fees... when I told him I needed more time, he left a
barrel full of acetone, benzene, and turpentine by my apartment door."

"Forgive me for asking, but how much do you owe him?"

"Ten thousand.  Actually, only five thousand now, I've been working really
hard and I should have him paid off by the end of the year.  Some folks
want me for a modeling contract, and I'm to see them in two weeks."

"So where did you come from and why did you end up out here?"

"You're not going to believe it."

Randall leaned back and sipped his champagne.  "Try me.  You might be
surprised what it takes to throw me off."

"I'm a cartoon.  Or at least I was before I suddenly materialized in this
world. Because of a man--I don't know what you'd call it.  Magic,
superpowers, whatever.  He pulled me into this world along with an
associate of mine from the other side."

"And what of this man?"

"His name is Lawrence. Or you might have heard of him by another name.
Spectrum. I took one look at him and, I don't know, I sort of fell in love
with him."

"Go on..."

Foxy took another sip of champagne, "This is good stuff.  Anyway.  We were
together, then there was this accident and an explosion, and when I woke
up I was in the hospital, except I wasn't a toon anymore.  Not completely.
And I wasn't a human either.  Not completely.  I'm one of a kind, as far
as I know."

"Indeed."

Foxy paused and looked at the ceiling, watching the lights spin off the
ball. "I thought this was something wonderful.  Lawrence and I could be
together, you know, really to-ge-ther.  But then something happened, we
had a fight and said some things we shouldn't have, and he threatened to
send me back.  I didn't want that, so I ran away."

Randall leaned towards Foxy.  "Are you sure that's what he meant?  Did you
ever speak with him again?"

Foxy dug a crumpled newspaper clipping out of her pocket and held it for
Randall to see.  It was the picture of Spectrum running down the street
with a green haired woman.
"He's obviously moved on.  So I did too.  I tried working for a small
video studio in Ohio, but I wasn't interested in that.  So I went out here
to California to try to get into movies."

"You left a movie job, to go get in movies?"  Randall scratched his goatee.

"Let's just say we had 'artistic differences'.  My boss was a real tigress
so I left, but I ran out of money by the time I hit Riverside.
I hitched the rest of the way to Hollywood, and got a waitress job.
That's when I met Benny.  He was nice enough at first, but he was just
playing me to get me on the hook and now I owe him.  He hooked me up with
the twins and I'm out there shaking my tail to pay him off."

"What would you say if I told you I could pay off your debts and offer you
an opportunity up in Northern California?"

"Okay what's the catch?  Who do you work for?"

"A rather wealthy and eccentric gentleman from Texas, named Stetson
Tyler. He is forming a team of individuals to use their unique abilities
to protect the world and also to a lesser extent, his own interests.  I
believe you know the leader of the team."  He slid a photo of Spectrum
across the cushion to her.

Foxy let out a gasp, and spilled her drink.  "Get out.  Get out now, or I
will have Gordo throw you out."

"I don't understand."

"If Spectrum wants me back, he can come get me himself, not send some old
geezer that looks like he's somebody's butler."

"Spectrum doesn't know I am here."

"Fine!  I don't care if he ever knows!  He obviously doesn't care enough
to see me himself, or else he'd be here right now, not you!  If he cares
more about being a superhero and living free and easy with whatever floozy
that throws herself at him, then he can just go to Hell. I'll find my own
way thank you very much, and on my own terms."

"What about Fuzzy Bunny; don't you want to see him again?"

"Fuzzy?  That rabbit is the most self-centered self-promoting egomaniac
I've ever met!  He and Spectrum are perfect for each other."  She looked
at her watch. "Your times up.  Thanks but no thanks and don't let the door
hit yah where the dog shoulda bit yah."

Randall stood stiffly, and bowed politely to the angry vixen.  "Sorry to
have troubled you.  Please accept my apologies."  He laid the money on the
cushion. "I'm sorry I interfered. He still cares about you."

She bared her teeth.  "I'll take your money, but you can stuff your
apology. Next time let Lawrence do his own dirty work."

A grimy hand clamped down on Randall's shoulder.  "We got a problem in
here, Foxy?"

"Only if you continue to lay hands on me."  Randall crisply responded.

"He's just leaving, Gordo."  Foxy snapped.

"Maybe I should help him out the door." Gordo rumbled.

In a fluid motion, Randall turned, stepped into Gordo, and grabbing his
hand, casually flipped the bouncer to the ground.  Brushing off his
collar, he bowed curtly and said, "Good day to you, Madam.  I hope to
speak to you again, someday, on better terms."
And with that, he disappeared.

Foxy gasped in surprise.  Pocketing the money, she bent over Gordo to make
sure he was okay.

As she was about to leave the room, she paused, then walked to the
picture, still sitting on the cushion.  She picked it up, staring at it
intently, and then held it close to her breast as she closed her eyes, and
wept softly.

***

WHAT WILL OUR HEROES ENCOUNTER WHEN THEY ENTER THE SNAKE BASE?

WILL TDSM EVER GET HIS OWN FLASHBACK?

DO SNAKE BARS HAVE LAP-DANCES IF THEY HAVE NO LAPS?

WILL SPECTRUM EVER GET HIS POWERS BACK?

FIND OUT IN THE NEXT EXCITING EPISODE OF:

SUPERGUY!