Barry In Charge, The Bard Gets Ready

by michaelcahill

Background
The focus is now on kidnapped children held for marketing. The Bard, a homeless, mentally ill, poet leads the detectives attempting to rescue them from mercenaries.

Previously, Susan turned up in Downtown Vegas and finally got through to Barry. Barry thought it would be wise to include her in his plans so they planned to meet at Winson's compound. The kids are being held hostage there though Barry is anxious to move them believing the compound to be hot because of them. The detectives are tracking Barry and soon to make an attempt to infiltrate the compound and set the rescue of the children in motion. We continue now as Barry arrives at the compound.

~~~~~~~Winston's compound, soon to become Barry's compound

Barry pulled into Winston's compound. He had already set the stage for his entrance. The VIP treatment had been pre-ordained by several phone conversations. The large wooden gates opened as he pulled up in the green station wagon he had commandeered in his travels. The theme of the compound was decidedly Medieval.

The attire was drab and military. The soldiers where dronish in nature and unspirited. They bore no semblance to the smart spit and polish sharpness of an American Marine unit or even a weekend reserve call-up practicing maneuvers in a California desert. Gruff and grunting individuals trudged through the landscape looking for action, but without a conviction to fight for. There was only the fight.

The offices looked like the temporary units that were quickly installed to answer over-crowding in schools. Those were the units that remained twenty years later as permanent classrooms. Barry assumed that the classroom with the giant American flag hoisted twenty-five feet atop a pole was headquarters. He marched inside like he owned the place.

"Where's my office?" Barry used his deepest tone, which was still too high to qualify as overtly manly.

A woman that looked to be a receptionist for a Vegas brothel pointed to a door with an intricate glittery fingernail.

The large plaque on the door said: General Blackwell, Supreme Commander. Barry chuckled to himself as he walked in and sat confidently behind the huge redwood desk. He had neglected to ask for the name of his secretary. He pushed the send button on the microphone on his desk. His intent was to inform her to gather his commanders to his office.

"I need all of my commanders in my office, pronto!" He heard the echo of his own voice coming in through the open window behind his desk and to the right. The microphone was part of the compound broadcast system. He had broadcast his request to the entire camp.

Looney Tunes animators couldn't script the response better. From every corner of the compound, heavily armed and muscled military types danced the two-step to Winston's… to Barry's office.

"Liston Patterson Clay reporting as ordered, SIR!" If his head wasn't completely solid, his salute would've caused a concussion.

"Serena McMurphy reporting as ordered, SIR!" Her voice was deeper than Barry White's after smoking a stale nickel cigar and seeing Lena Horne naked.

"Senator Kennedy reporting as ordered, SIR!" Barely five feet tall and at least five feet wide.

"Samuel Jibberdydoddles reporting as ordered."

Barry eyed Samuel. "No 'sir', soldier?"

"SIR! Yes, sir. SIR!" He froze and became rigid, as though breathing would give away his position.

Barry laughed. "I'm kidding, Sam. What the hell kind of a name is Jibbersnoddles or whatever you said?"

"Jibberdydoddles, sir. I don't know, sir. My momma was Italian and my father ran off with Alphonse the glass blower from the Renaissance Faire."

"Well, with a name like that, I know you learned how to fight."

"Yes, sir. I had a hard time when I was a kid, sir. I'd introduce myself as Samuel Jibberdydoddles and the other kids would start laughing right off the bat. That damn T.V. show, Bewitched, was so popular back then. They'd say, "Samuel, huh? Your're named Sam? Why don't you wiggle your nose then and make a broom to fly away on like a witch 'cause you're a witch and stuff". They were very cruel, sir. I can't say I was sad when that show was canceled, SIR!"

Before the others could join the routine, Barry spoke. "Look. I'm not into all this military formality. I did my service. I'm just Barry. No, sir. No, sir, yes sir. Just give me the names you go by and we'll be fine. I can point and say, "Hey you" too. That works just as well. Let's see then, Liston Patterson Clay, what do they call you?"

"Pug, on account of my dog."

"Okay, you." He pointed at Serena McMurphy

"They call me Fluffy, sir… ah… Barry."

"Fluffy? Ummm… well, okay. How about you, what is it, Ted, Bobby, John?"

"I don't think I follow, sir… I mean Barry, sir. They call me 'Deadlock', but I don't know where they came up with that crazy name."

"How 'bout you? Still sensitive about Sam?"

"No, Sir Barry, sir. They call me Liz. I think it's because I like cars. You know, like the Tin Lizzie?"

"Okay, enough fun. This facility is hot. They'd never chance a confrontation with us considering our firepower and strategic position. But, you add a hundred kids to the mix and they may not have a choice. We've got to get those kids out of here, but I don't want to lose them. They're worth a lot of damn money. And… ah, we need money to… well… further our cause of… freedom … and ah… justice for the oppressed. Every damn cop, FBI agent and curious innocent bystander is trying to find this place and be a hero. Our coastal operations were devastated recently by poor planning and just plain stupidity. That's not going to happen here. We begin taking these kids out of here tonight. We'll take them out a few at a time in unmarked vans. We'll use various makes and models so we don't draw attention."

"Excuse me, sir errr… Barry, but where are we going to take them to?"

"You don't worry about that, okay? The less everyone knows the better. No knowledge means nothing to leak. They can torture to death, but if you don't know, they can't get anything out of you, right? Let me worry about where they go. All I can say is, once the kids are out of here then the heat should be off. After all, we have the right to bear arms and defend ourselves and our nation. Start getting the kids ready and get more vans if we need them. I want plain vans without markings. Nothing that draws attention. A few years old with some dings and dents. Make sure they are in good running order. I don't care what they look like, but they have to run like a top. Okay?" They all nodded in the affirmative. "Okay then, dismissed!"

~~~~~~~~on the road with the Bard

Tenaya monitored Barry's whereabouts with Lucy's cell phone that they hoped was still in his possession. "Well, he hasn't left this location for a couple hours now. Either he left the car with the phone in it and jacked another car or parked the car at a motel or hopefully Winston's compound. We need to solidify a plan. We know the kids are captive. How do we find them? It's probably a large compound. I have no doubt that we can blend in as volunteers. But, the closer we get to the hostages the more scrutiny we're gonna get."

Lucy had an idea."Well, this is a bit crazy maybe, but why don't we pretend to capture the Bard here and turn him in? That would put him near the children I suspect. It would establish some credibility for us too. Two badass chicks capture a spy and turn him in. That puts our man right in the middle of whatever prisoners they have. Who knows who they have captive besides the kids. He can let us know the location and we take it from there."

Tenaya thought it over for a while. "Yes, it's risky, but so is snooping around and getting caught. It's up to the man here. It's his ass on the line. What say you?" She looked in the rear view mirror at the Bard.

"And a fine arse it 'tis too. Shapely and firm. Round, yes. But, not overtly feminine. Capable of striding the white sands of a beachfront construction site confusing Boris, the drywall man, formerly a famous Russian physician who considered himself straight, until that very moment. But now his mind drifted back to a go-kart made of wood, powered by a two-stroke lawn mower engine. Those two pistons, just like the cheeks of that fine booty, thrusting up and down like clockwork. Hmm. Does that mean I'm gay? Boris couldn't help but wonder. He recalled the great relief he felt finding out that all men have the same fantasy about being kissed passionately by a young Yo Yo Ma. Your only gay if the fantasy continues into your old age. Well, I've forgotten the question."

Tenaya could barely speak from laughing. "We're talking about pretending to capture your two stroke ass as a prisoner to get you in close to the kids. What do you think?"

"Well, I think that there is no finer cellist in the world. Some may find his work too Avant-garde, but I say go for it. It brings in listeners that would never have been exposed to classical music otherwise. I'm reminded of Jethro Tull. In their heyday, the flute was one of the most requested instruments in high school band. Now? Kids want to be in the orchestra playing the cello. Soprano Sax? Oh hell no! Kenny G can go screw himself. Are you kidding me? Crash the elevator! I… WOULD… RATHER… DIE! I hope that answers your question. I suggest we "pretend" that I'm a world famous cellist that you found wandering in the forest looking for a gay drywall expert."

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Moving forward. Whatever is lost is lost. I'm on a direction that feels right to me. So, here we go. Thanks for your patience. I will try to post on a regular basis now. Still a lot of catching up to do. It will take weeks I imagine maybe months. But, I'm plugging away!!

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michaelcahill has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.

Barry takes over Winston's compound. Plans are made.

A chapter in the book Bel Air: A Bard's Guide

Barry In Charge, The Bard Gets Ready

by michaelcahill

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