Inside Straight

The next one started out: You go, Toolbelt! You got friends out here. … Finally. Friends were friends, even if they didn’t always get the name right. Drummer Boy had a knack for giving people catchy nicknames. Wally kept reading: … you done nothing wrong but put that spear-chukkin’ jungle bunny in his place—

CLICK.

What’s worse than being loved by hateful people?

Tiffani’s throaty laugh came through a lull in the music, just as Wally took a long pull on his glass of pop. Something about the Candle trying to light Toad Man’s gas. It startled him. The glass shattered in Wally’s fist, dousing his face and hands with sugar water.

“Cripes!”

He’d have to scrub his face before going to bed, otherwise he’d break out in new rust spots by morning. This time he’d try to remember to clean the bathroom sink afterward. Nobody got mad at Pop Tart for leaving her makeup stuff all over the bathroom, but they sure got sore when he left his used SOS pads on the sink.

A guy would think they’d never scrubbed a pot before.

He’d been a pimply kid before his card had turned. Turns out you can have bad skin even when that skin is living iron.

Hunger got the better of him. I wonder if they got any of them Rice Krispies bars downstairs? Maybe he could just slip out long enough to fill up a plate.

K-chank! K-chank! K-chank! K-chank!

It’s hard to tiptoe when you’re three hundred fifty pounds and wrapped in inch-thick iron. But Wally was getting better at it, skulking around the Discard Pile.

Chank. Chank. Chank. Chank.

A little better.

Wally paused at the bottom of the stairs for a deep breath before wading into the fray. It’s hard to slip through a crowd unnoticed when your elbows can crack ribs.

“Look at me, I’m big and important!” said Mr. Berman. Jade Blossom, Matryoshka, and a few of the others stood around him, laughing. He waved his arms over his head. “I’m a rich Hollywood weasel! I’m—” Something crunched when Wally tried to sidle past the group. The television executive howled in pain as he dissolved into a pale-faced Andrew Yamauchi. “Aaah! My tail!”

“What?”

“My tail! Get off my tail!”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry.” Wally jumped back. Wild Fox swished his tail around and delicately inspected the tip. The last few inches, where the coppery fur blended into smoky gray, had been flattened. It also had a new kink.

“My tail …”

Wally spun around to get out of there, only to bowl over Spasm, causing him to splash his drink on Pop Tart.

“Damn it, you stupid tool. I was going to swi—talk wardrobe into letting me keep this top, too.”

He tried to apologize, but he couldn’t form the words around a very violent sneezing fit that nearly knocked his eyes out of his head. Wally bashed a hole in the wall as he stumbled blindly away, trailing apologies as he went.

“Clumsy oaf! Go crush some rocks or something.”

“Did you hear about his audition?”

“No.”

“Oh, man. It was classic.”

Wally pushed his way toward the kitchen.

Somebody had made a pan of Rice Krispies bars. Now, how about that? Wally got the last one, too, until Blrr came zipping past and snatched it from his hand. He found some brownies, but Joe Twitch got those, too. They were having some kind of competition, she and him. For crying out loud!

Most of the good stuff was gone, but he managed to fill a plate. He didn’t feel up to braving the crowd again on the way back upstairs. Instead, he slipped into the library. Nobody ever went in there, not even for a party. Wally didn’t, either. He wasn’t much of a reader.

Seated in a leather recliner with a paper plate perched on one massive knee, Wally took his first good look at the library. The first thing he noticed was that the books lining the shelves along every wall weren’t actually books. They were cheap cardboard facades with the spines of books painted on them. Up close, there was no mistaking them for the real thing. Maybe they looked real on TV.

He did find one real book, a dictionary at the end of one shelf. Fanning through the yellowed pages released a cloud of dust and the mustiness peculiar to books.

They didn’t do it.

The entry on Egypt was short. “A country in northeast Africa, bordering the Mediterranean and Red seas and containing the Nile Delta. Capital: Cairo.”

Not exactly what Wally wanted. Then again, he wasn’t sure what he wanted. Thinking about those people in Bugsy’s blog felt like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

It was a long time before the party quieted down enough to let a guy sleep.