Chapter One: They Shoot Weasels, Don’t They?
The strobe lights were in full effect, dancing over his skin in well-timed pulses to the erotic beat of the music pumping out over the speakers. Brick Masterson aimed a come-hither smile to the bachelorette party at Table 12, pleased to see several of the woman giggle and swoon. He flicked the glittery weasel tail with a snap of his hips and gyrated over.
As two of the women stumbled forward to the edge of the stage, he crouched and spread his knees, letting them have full view of what they were stuffing tenners in his g-string to see. He licked his lips and gazed over their heads to surreptitiously glance at the three men huddled by the bar. Handshakes were exchanged (along with a packet or two of blow, he surmised) and they parted ways. It wasn’t the drugs that concerned him, he’d taken a sniff or two in his day, all the dancers did, it was the tell-tale bulges of concealed weaponry underneath the suit coats that caught his attention.
If the enforcers were out for a bit of fun, it only meant that The Duck was nearby. And that was Brick’s real target. Cyril “The Duck” Oldershaw-Crutchley, or “Ducky” as he was known at the Yard, was one of London’s most notorious gangsters. He operated out of several nail salons and massage parlors on the East End, with all manner of illegal dealings under his thumb. Drugs, girls, and guns, mostly. After all this time, it was still a bit much to process. Time travel tended to upset the most stalwart of sensibilities.
One day he’d been in Victorian London, fighting crime on the mean streets, when a terrible mishap with an electric socket and a horrifying recitation of Kipling’s Gunga Din propelled him forward in time, landing him in the 21st century. A troubling affair, all of it.
The hand on his thigh caught his attention. He waggled his finger at the buxom brunette. “Ah, ah, precious. No fondling the merchandise.”
She blushed and he slowly eased off his heels, bringing his groin scant inches from her face. Before her eyes had a chance to flutter closed, he shot up and whirled around, kicking off and launching himself at the pole. A few slinky swirls around the cool metal had Table 12 screaming in ecstasy. Everybody, man or woman, loved The White Weasel.
A mouse his thingy by the balls
“Ab, Fab! You’ve got three minutes!”
Fab fastened his rhinestone collar around his neck and checked his hair in the mirror.
“Ab, grab my thingy for me will you.” Mr. Tiddles flipped his lush blonde hair over his shoulders and inspected his nails.
“I’m Fab,” he blinked, ignoring the tow-head bobbing between Tiddles’ knees. “But I’m sure Ab would love to do that for you, Tiddles.”
“Something’s already got hold of his thingy.” Ab ran some product into his own dark tressed and smoothed the rest over his chest.
“Is that a mouse that’s got the kitten by the balls?” Fab snickered.
“Shut it! The both of you! Bloody hell!” Tiddles shoved the man away and stood, pulling his white chaps up. “I’ll get it myself.”
Fab reached for the pump they used to get maximum rise out of their ‘equipment’ and tossed it to the man. It was so easy to get him riled up. He and Ab did it just for laughs.
“I’m Fab,” Ab lied.
The twins blinked at Tiddles. His face flushed scarlet. He probably couldn’t have hated the two of them more if he tried.
Crash! The sound echoed from the main floor.
Amelia, their manager, rushed in from the back office, buttoning her blouse as she did. No one came out after her, but that didn’t mean she was alone.
“What the hell was that?” Amelia cried.
A scream ripped through the club, silencing the sounds of electronica and debauchery.
Of Segways And Shoes
The group rushed forwards into the club, Ab and Fab grabbing their stuffed stage-prop cobra before following. You never knew when you might get an impromptu dance in, and the Glitterati liked to be prepared. Tiddles paused at the door and ushered them through. “Badly-done highlights before gorgeousness,” he quipped.
“Leave the posturing, guys, come on!” Amelia led the charge, immediately panicking about who might have been in the crash they heard. Fear gripped her throat as the thought that she might never see the White Weasel’s Triple Flip and Curl again. Chasing it away with a glittery shake of her head, they continued to the stage.
The sight made all of them gasp in horror. Several of the strobe lights had fallen from the top of the stage, and Barbella and Pegsy were trapped underneath. A hole had been made in the side wall, letting in the stench from the alleyway outside, and many customers had fainted just from that. But the worst sight was who was hovering in the space left by the gaping hole. Perched on a customised Segway was Marty Frederick. The number one villain on the Glitterati’s crime list. He was responsible for most of the drug rings, abductions, and unreturned library books in the city. He was laughing maniacally, every now and then pausing to take a heaving gasp from his inhaler.
“You bastard!” Ab cried. “You KNOW I’m waiting to read the autobiography of Judy Garland! Return it so I can take it out from the library!” Fab pulled him back, but his brother yanked himself from the hold. If there was one thing sure to twist his hairdo, it was not being able to read a book he wanted.
Tiddles raced over to the shining black stage, and leapt up with a nifty back-flip, giving a group at Table 3 a full sight of his ‘mouse’. They instantly stopped screaming and tittered amongst one another instead, throwing a bunch of ones onto the broken stage. Marty did not look impressed, waving forward two of his minions. Before the glass-wearing villain could do anything further, Tiddles tried pulling the strobe lights off the pair still stuck underneath. “Barbella…use…your….groin!” he gritted out through clenched teeth.
Barbella gave a over-dramatic groan, putting one hand to his forehead. “I can’t! The strobe light is on my chest, not my groin!”
“Goddamn it…where’s the Weasel?” Tiddles muttered, a bead of sweat running through his facial make-up. Realising it was going to leave a streak, he paused his progress with the heavy lighting equipment and dabbed at his forehead with a cloth.
Pegsy flailed on the stage, his clip-on hooves preventing him from doing anything other than dancing fabulously on his side. He twisted his head, attempting to hook his unicorn horn through the bars of the lights, to push them off. “I can’t do it!” he cried out. “Damn these gorgeous strobe lights!”
“It would appear you have a p’woblem, ‘widdle c’wime fighters,” Marty sneered, the hum of his Segway barely noticeable as he inched his way over to the stage. Two of his bespectacled goons grunted as they slowly pulled themselves up to the stage, their sensible pumps sliding on the glossed surface. Tiddles turned around just in time, and did enough of Riverdance to stamp on their fingers and halt their process. Marty gave an annoyed snort. “Damn you, Tiddles! Leave my minions a’wone! You big bully!”
“I hope the party hasn’t started without me,” came a cool voice from the back of the room. Everyone’s heads turned as one to catch sight of the White Weasel, his figure twirling in a perfect pirouette before he leapt down from Table 7. A woman swooned, and he caught her before she fell into her Martini. He scooped up the drink and let her hand bang onto the table, inspecting the cocktail closely. “Damn,” he muttered. “I do hate to see good cocktails ruined.”
Downing it in one, he cartwheeled over to Marty and the stage, pointing towards Ab and Fab. “Ab! Fab! Attach that snake to the lights and prise them up…quickly!”
Ab gave a mock stare of surprise down at his privates. “My snake is strong, but I don’t think it’s that strong.” He winked at Table 6.
Fab flicked out his hair and tutted in exasperation. “Not that snake, Ab…our stuffed snake?”
As the twins skipped across to save Pegsy and Barbella, Tiddles still valiantly going into the tenth strain of Riverdance to keep away the minions, the White Weasel made his way over to Marty. Ignoring the singles getting pushed into his chaps as he made his way over, he halted and narrowed his perfectly-sequinned eyes at the villain. “So, Marty…we meet again.”
“Indeed, White Weasel. And this time, I will not fail to stop your c’wime fighters!”
The White Weasel gave a sneer, and snapped his fingers, almost tossing his hair in disdain. “But clearly, you fail at being cool, Marty. And that’s much more important.” The customers gave solemn nods to his statement, murmuring in agreement.
Marty’s face turned a deep shade of red, and he angrily punched buttons on the Segway, directing it to turn towards the White Weasel at a frightening 2 miles an hour. “This time, you will sign an autog’waph for me…all over my Super Segway!”
“Super Segway?” Pegsy perked up, giving a snigger. “Dude, that’s so lame.”
Marty twisted so he could look over his shoulder at the half-man, half-pony, and jabbed a finger at him. “You be quiet, you…you…silly pony!”
“Oh, good one, dude.” Pegsy rolled his eyes and flicked his rainbow-coloured tail with a well-practised wiggle of his butt. “Did you stay up all night to think that one up?”
“Enough!” The White Weasel cried out, remembering that the ‘After Twilight’ show was due to start in ten minutes, and they got the best tips from it. If the stage wasn’t ready, that was his savings for a Gucci tailcoat down the toilet. First checking that his hand was suitably protected with his trademark white leather gloves, he thrust his hand forwards, connecting it with Marty’s jaw in a pow-worthy moment. Amelia gave a sharp exhale and made as though to faint, one hand sneaking up to unbutton her shirt in the Weasel’s direction.
Marty staggered backwards, sliding off his Segway onto the polished floor. The Segway proceeded to move forward at a leisurely pace, scattering the customers right and left as they darted out of the way of its rampage. The Weasel pointed a finger at the dramatically swooning Amelia. “Amelia! Get that Segway before it leave marks on the floor! And as for you, Marty Frederick…”
As he closed in on the snivelling villain, a loud clapping came from behind him, stunning the club into silence. It ceased, and the sound of cheap leather shoes followed it. The White Weasel winced at the sound. There was only one bastard in the whole of London who would wear something so offensive to the world of fashion.
“Well, well, well…thank you, Marty. Now it’s my turn.”
Tiddles and the White Weasel exchanged a furious look. That voice belonged to only one villain, a man so evil he didn’t even know how to mix the perfect White Russian. Cyril “The Duck” Oldershaw-Crutchley.
Evil Comes In Tiny Packages
Amelia stumbled behind them, grabbing at the segway and nearly breaking the heel of her Jimmy Choo’s before she climbed on. “I don’t know how to stop this stupid thing!”
“Just push a button.” The White weasel called over his shoulder, not taking his eyes of Cyril. “You and your goons are stinking up our club. You need to leave.”
Tiddles stepped forward, tilting his chin up with a derisive snort, “Literally. You’re going to scare off the customers with the discount bin toilet water you’ve doused yourself in.”
Back on the stage, Ab and Fab were just freeing Barbella and Pegsy from the fallen lighting rigs and Barbella pushed it the rest of the way off of them with a glorious thrust that set several ladies squealing in delight.
Cyril winced at the noise and narrowed his eyes at The White Weasel. The two suited men from earlier came up on either side of him, pulling pistols from their jackets and The White Weasel couldn’t help but notice the shoddy stitching. Terribly done Armani knock-offs with zero-tailoring. How dare they!
“I’ve come on business, weasel.” Cyril’s grating voice pulled his attention away from the offensive clothing and he tipped an eyebrow up at the Duck.
“We don’t do business with your kind–”
“Weasel, I can’t figure this thing out! Someone help me, I getting nauseous!” Amelia called out. She’d been mashing buttons and had only succeeded in setting the segway into a vicious spin.
“Hold on, Amelia. Tiddles? Pegsy? Someone help her!” The weasel growled. There was going to be skid marks on the floor for sure now. Bastards.
“Not so fast! Anyone moves and my men start shooting.”
The Glitterati froze and several gasps and more fainting ensued amongst their patrons.
“Now that I have your undivided attention, I wanted to tell you about my new business venture. You see, I’ve started my own club, assembled my own crack team of male strippers.” The duck nodded at the two gunmen.
They tugged at the cheap and apparently tear-away suits to reveal gaudy little polyester g-strings. Several women snickered, fingers pointing toward their pasty, untoned torsos and birdchests, then down to their thongs.
One of the pasty men frowned, glancing down at his sad, polyester-clad package and growled. “It’s a little cold in here, okay?”
Back on the stage Pegsy let out a strange noise between a snort and a neigh and thrust his hips forward. “I think your men are a little lacking. Cold or not, most of us here are still hung like hors-”
“Shut it, Pony boy!” Cyril stomped his foot and the cheap leather squeaked and scuffed the floor. Weasel frowned.
“Guys! I’m getting dizzy…” Amelia’s voice was unsteady. The weasel knew they didn’t have much time to get her off that damned thing.
“Get on with it, Duck. What about your pasty, malnourished strippers? Do you really think they can rival the Glitterati?”
“Yes, because I know your secret weapon.”
Toward the back of the club, Marty let out another maniacal laugh but was quickly silenced by the need for his inhaler.
“You can’t possibly do the triple-flip and curl,” Weasel scoffed, “only three other male strippers in the world have tried, and each of them ended up–”
“No. Not that! Her!” Cyril pointed a boney finger at the spinning redhead on the segway. “Amelia books all your private parties, does she not? Now she’ll be booking ours. Giving us all your top clients. Or else.”
“Or…Else…What?” Amelia tried to ask as the segway slung her around. She was going cross-eyed from the constant motion.
“You’re coming with us. And if you don’t do as your told…well…just picture it. Polyester three-piece suits. Right-from-the-box hair dye. Drug store make up…” His lips curled into a cruel smirk.
“No… I…won’t… do…it! Weasel, help!”
With a quick flip of he hips, the weasel’s tail slapped the gun out of the one of the pasty men’s limp grip and the rest of the Glitterati sprung into action. The other minion turned his aim on the Weasel, but Tiddles grabbed the back of his g-string, letting the cheap elastic snap back like a cracking whip. The man fell forward with a yelp and the gun slid across the polished floor.
“I got it!” Ab called.
“No I got it!” Fab yelled and collided with his brother.
“I’m on it!” Pegsy hopped off the stage in his hot pink high tops and reached for it, forgetting that he was still wearing his clip-on hooves. Weasel sighed as Pegsy dipped down, his rainbow-colored tail sticking in the air. He managed to hook it around his horn and stood up triumpantly.
“Weasel! Do something!” He turned his attention back to Amelia.
She’d somehow managed to go across the room and the segway was now doing figure eight’s around two tables. Surveying the distance and height of the tables, Weasel poised to leap toward her. Before his feet even left the floor, there was a sudden flash and a puff of smoke. He dropped to his knees, coughing.
He could hear the others coughing as well, but the sound of the rampaging segway and Marty’s inhaler was notably missing. And as the smoke cleared, Weasel saw that Amelia was missing along with them. The club was now dusted in an even coat of some sort of powder. They definitely wouldn’t be open for their “After Twilight” show tonight.
Outside, tires squealed against the pavement and the men trampled out into the parking lot, running for their van.
“Charlie! Start the van!” Weasel yelled across the parking lot and a second later the colorful van door slid open.
“What’s going on?” Charlie blinked, his features unreadable behind the unicorn mask he always wore- he claimed to have some sort of disformity, but none of the other men had yet to see him with his mask off.
“Marty and the Duck got Amelia. He wants our private parties. We’ve got to move!”
“Hop in, I’ll get the old girl rumbling.” He hopped into the driver’s side and popped the passenger door open. “Hey Pegs…you can sit up front.”
“It’s Pegasus, to you, Charlie.” Pegsy snorted behind the others as they piled in. Tiddles, Barbella and The Weasel took up one of the couches in the back of the van. With scheming looks Abs and Fabs spread themselves across the other small sofa and slid the side door shut in Pegsy’s face, giving him no other alternative.
“You guys suck, you know that?” He narrowed his eyes at the others as he slid into the front passenger seat. The Weasel couldn’t see because of the mask, but he could tell from the gleeful look in Charlie’s eyes that he was grinning. It was no secret that, of all the tail Charlie could get in his psychodelic van, the only one he had his eye on was Pegsy’s.
“Ohh don’t be such a baby, Ponyboy.” Ab teased, grinning ear to ear.
“I’m not a fucking pony, dude.” Pegsy growled, flashinga vicious look and flaring his nostrils at the duo.
“Pony, unicorn, what’s the difference?” Fab laughed.
Charlie chuckled from the driver’s seat and shook his head. “I’ll tell you the difference. One’s much hornier.” He said before he turned the ignition and speed metal blared through the van. The weasel caught the wink Charlie flashed at Pegsy, but Pegsy spun back around, refusing to acknowledge him.
“Will you go already?” He snorted. Charlie didn’t say anything, but planted his foot on the gas pedal, and with a excited neigh…they were off.