Chapter 4: The Waretown Warehouse Wham Bam


Waretown was one of the typical one horse towns on the Jersey Shore side
of New Jersey. That is not strictly true though. Some days there were
two horses. The town itself was basically a main street affair with one
major road, in this case US Highway 9, passing through a rag tag
collection of mom and pop stores.

It was a dull, overcast day, the kind you hardly ever see in the movies.
The sky was full of dark clouds, pregnant with the possibility of rain
but never quite fulfilling the predictions of the weather forecasters.
The clouds were content to hang around in a uniformly thick layer across
the sky and to dim the sunshine practically into ambient light.

Frankie tooled along US Highway 9 in his old rusty ferret mobile. He had
just gotten off the Parkway a few miles up, but the rest of his trip
would be along this ancient highway, almost but not quite forgotten by
the ages. There was still quite a bit of farmland just outside of the
town center but within city limits. Some fields were bare as it was
past the growing season, but he could see some fields where the corn had
been threshed down but not cleared away. A little closer to town, the
highway was lined with houses on both sides. These were mainly single
storey dwellings with a yard but no fences delineating property lines.
Judging by the way the yards were mowed and planted, it looked like the
prevailing assumption was that property boundaries extended all the way
to the highway even though that most assuredly wasn't true.

The first indication that he had entered the town was a rather
run down gas station. A green and yellow gas price sign stood on two
tall poles just outside the gas station by the side of the highway.
Except that it was half rusted. The sign had broken off one of the poles
and was hanging down from the other pole. Most of the numbers had fallen
off although Frankie could still make out that the price for premium
gasoline started with a one, and that dated the sign to at least several
decades back. Back in the gas station, there was a small building
painted in the same green and yellow colors. Where the paint had chipped
off, and it was chipping off in many spots, the wall was a dull beige.
The building appeared to house a cashier's desk, a small garage with the
steel door down, and a small convenience store with area maps and a
nominal supply of snacks and soda. In front of the building were a pair
of gas pumps standing on a raised concrete island in the middle of a
concrete area. A pump attendant, in a straw hat and blue denim overalls,
was sitting on a small folding chair next to one of the gas pumps
waiting for the next customer. He would not be seeing too many that day.

Over in the next block was a mom and pop convenience store,
appropriately named the Mom and Pop Store, as the sign up over the door
indicated. Signs in the window indicated the current prize pot for the
New Jersey Lottery and another multistate lottery. There was also a neon
sign advertising the brand name of a beer and some small signs for a few
well known brands of cigarettes. All along the base of the wall, there
was a concrete trough turned into a planter with some small flowering
plants growing from it. The planter stopped right at the front door,
which had a little "Open" sign sitting behind the glass rectangle in the
door.

Next to that, there was some kind of a municipal complex. The fire
station was the most prominent as there was a fire truck warning sign
just before it. It was an imposing brick garage with two large steel
doors that were down at the time. Lines across the highway delineated a
zone where fire trucks would screech right out onto the road in the
event of a fire emergency. The police station was right next to the fire
station, although it was hard to tell as most of it was a compound that
was closed off by a chain link fence. There were about half a dozen
police cruisers, all Ford Crown Victorias, painted mostly in white with
one black horizontal stripe. The police crest for the town was painted
on the front doors of each of the cars.

Just after the fence, there was some kind of municipal park. It was a
large rectangular area, covered mostly in closely cropped grass. A
jogging track paved in wood chips ran around the perimeter of the park
and there were wooden benches placed at regular intervals along the
jogging track. The grassy area was dotted by thin short birch trees but
these were by no means close together. As was common in municipal
parks, one corner of the park area was reserved for a children's
playground with the standard swing set and slide set painted in gaudy
bright colors, here yellow, blue and red. Frankie winced a little as
the playground brought back his memory of the fateful day of the
abduction of his sister at the Wombat Lane playground. This corner of
the park, of course, was the one closest to the police station for the
sake of the children's safety. In the center of the park, there was a
pond, roughly shaped like an egg. Wild mallards and Canada geese were
swimming lazily across the pond in random directions amid lily pads and
floating patches of algae.

Frankie was so engrossed taking in all the quaint sights of the town
that he did not know that he had missed Beaver Street until he was
outside of the town proper. He drove on to the next side street, which
happened to be in a small housing development, before turning the car
around and coming back the other way. This time, he drove a little more
slowly, watching out for the correct street and after a minute or two,
he found it. And when he did, he realized the reason why he did not see
it the first time. Instead of a standard green and white metal street
sign, the only item pointing the way into Beaver Street was a small
wooden sign with the name of the street scrawled on it in black marker
ink. The sign was mounted at the top of a wooden stake, which was itself
leaning at an angle as if it was about to fall over.

Next to the sign, there was a small building advertising "Beaver Service
and Sales - All Beavers Foreign and Domestic". In the dirt yard in front
of the building, about half a dozen small beavers romped and frolicked
among the discarded tires and bed frames. Frankie pretended he did not
see that, and made a turn onto the side street where the sign pointed.

Although it started off flanked by a number of houses, Beaver Street
turned out to be a country road going back West towards the pinelands of
New Jersey. As he continued driving further along Beaver St, the
buildings became a bit more sparse and the land on either side of the
road became mostly farmland, now bare after the fall harvest. The only
clue as to the addresses of those buildings came from the numbered
mailboxes that were right next to the road. Frankie counted along
with the mailboxes going 250... 252... 254... 258. Wait a minute, he
thought, wasn't he supposed to be looking for number 256? He turned the
car around and looked out into the field between 254 and 258. Sure
enough, there was a burnt out delapidated warehouse in the field.
While he was not sure what exactly he was supposed to be looking
for in an abandoned building, Frankie stopped the car at the side of the
road there and made his way towards the warehouse. Even if that turned
out not to be the location of the mannequin manufacturer, and it would
be disappointing if it wasn't, he had an interest in abandoned buildings
and had explored many such buildings closer to home.

As he approached the abandoned warehouse, he saw that it used to be
for Cromw, with part of the sign missing, Plumbing Supply. Most of the
windows had been boarded up but to no effect because the glass was
broken anyway. As he entered the doorway of the warehouse, he had to
take care to avoid the boards strewn over the floor and some of the
boards had nails sticking out of them. He decided he did not want to get
tetanus from a nasty poke by a rusty nail. The interior of the warehouse
was shadowy but not completely dark. Light came in through the windows
near the top of the forty foot walls. The glass in those windows too was
cracked and shattered here and there. Many of them had the common spider
web cracks that came from perhaps having had rocks thrown at them. As
his eyes got used to the dim light, he scanned around the interior of
the warehouse. There was still some old machinery sitting here and there
on the floor. Some of those were big hunks of junk with gears and shafts
still intact, while others had been reduced to mere bits and pieces
lying on the floor. Oddly enough, for a warehouse that used to be for
plumbing supply, he did not see a single pipe, whether metal or
plastic.

A small dart whizzed by, nearly nicking his left ear. The dart struck
the wall and landed on the floor with a clatter. Frankie turned to look
at where the dart came from, which was the doorway.

A then familiar scaly figure came slithering through the door.

"Sh-sh-shado, we meet again." said Smith the snake. "Or should I say...
Frankie?" He was not wearing his business suit and tie this time. In
fact, he did not have anything on the length of his long scaly body
except for a small black vest about a few feet below his head. The vest
was festooned with many pockets and pouches. There were some small black
boxes that were wired, possibly to some power source or control within
the vest.

Frankie turned around to face Smith at the doorway. "Umm... hi."

"As you might have guessssed, we prepared a ssssurprise for you."
continued Smith, his head slowly bobbing from side to side in a menacing
way.

"For my birthday? That's not for another six weeks."

"Oh, don't be cute." Smith glared. "Your visssit to Lace 'n Love was
most unexpected. Thissss trip to the warehousssse, however, issss
completely anticipated."

Frankie just had a blank look on his face at that point.

"Honesssstly, you would have been like any other cusssstomer taking a
complaint to the manager, not that too many have done that before. My
sssstaff give excellent sssservice for a women'ssss clothing boutique.
Except, of coursssse, you assssked about the mannequin. Dangeroussss
people ask dangeroussss questions. I don't know how you could be
dangeroussss," Smith took a moment to look Frankie over from head to
feet, "but I will have to deal with you just like I would deal with
anyone who assssked ssssuch a quesssstion."

Frankie wondered how the mannequin could be dangerous.

Smith continued, "The musssshroomssss were knockout hallucigenic
drugssss. The dossssage wassss enough to put you out for about forty
eight hourssss and we needed that time to prepare for what we have
planned for you here."

Frankie wondered about the forty eight hours. Until that time, he had
not been aware of the date. He took a look at his digital watch and
pushed the date button. Holy crap, Smith was right. It was about two
days later than what he thought. "Umm well, I could have refused to take
the mushroom."

Smith glared again. "Everyone knowssss ferretssss love musssshroomssss."

Frankie wondered why no one ever told him that.

Smith continued, "And bessssidessss, I would have made you take one, if
you had not done sssso yoursssself. I have wayssss of making you eat the
musssshroomssss." He was being mysterious.

"One thing I was wondering. If you are going to kill me now for asking
the question about the mannequin, why didn't you kill me then, back when
I was asleep from the mushroom drug?" Frankie inquired, arms folded,
with a bit of a smirk on his face.

"Umm... I.... uhh..." Smith shuffled around in a bit of a quandary, in
as much as snakes could shuffle. He turned to one side and said "Damn."

"And another thing... I was stripped completely naked and brought home.
I assume you got my home address from an ID card or driver's license on
my person. And you know my name too from that card." Frankie said. "I
know clothing might have been removed because sleeping in clothing may
be a bit tight or uncomfortable. But why were even my briefs removed?"

Smith shuffled around a bit more. "I... uhh... well, I have
fetisssshessss okay? Ferret fetisssshessss! Are you happy now? Ssssmith
hassss ferret fetisssshessss. Ssssmith issss a ferret fancier! Doessss
your curioussssity know no boundssss, for the love of ferretssss?"

Hearing Smith say that, Frankie could feel his bung hole tightening in
an almost involuntary manner. "You creep," he exclaimed, as his eye
brows furrowed into a big frown. He regained some composure, "Umm well,
you are not quite my type."

"And what about you?" Smith furrowed his eye ridges and exclaimed in a
accusatory tone. "You lied about your name. Do you know how that made me
feel?" Remarkably, that was the first time Smith completed a sentence
without lisping. And he did all that in a fit of anger.

"Like some ferret lovin', you creepy creep creep?" retorted Frankie.

Smith started coiling, uncoiling and recoiling around in an angry
manner, twisting and turning with snake rage. "Enough talk! I hate
ssssmart mouth ferretssss. It issss time to end thissss once and for
all. Cat warrior attack!"

A shadowy figure sprang through the doorway from behind the wall
outside. The figure was cloaked from head to feet in black. The figure
had a hood and mask on but Frankie could make out that it had cat ears.
A cat's tail stuck out the back of the figure's robes. It was wearing a
belt around its waist and on the belt there were various items of steel,
ninja throwing stars, darts and small daggers.

The figure stood about twenty feet in front of Frankie and facing him.
He was a little alarmed. Honestly, he had never been fighting much.
Maybe a round or two of boxing back when he was picking gym activities
in school but almost nothing beyond that. But in the warehouse, he was
facing an adversary, obviously trained in some kind of martial art. He
did not know what to do.

The figure sprang up, one leg pointing towards Frankie in some kind of
kick stance. Almost by instinct, Frankie crossed his arms in front of
his face and braced for impact. Impact came but a split second later as
the figure's foot struck Frankie right in the cross of his arms. The
impact threw him back and he fell on the floor about fifteen feet from
where he stood. The figure bounced off his crossed arms and alighted on
the floor.

Frankie tried to get up but he saw that the figure had sprung up again
and was aiming a kick right his way again. So he just rolled to one
side. The figure struck the floor with such a force and bounced off.
Frankie thought of something and saw his chance. He swung up one arm and
slapped the figure on its thigh. Not expecting a counterattack, the
figure toppled and fell over, landing on the floor with a thump.

Frankie got up and staggered off to one side, trying to get some
distance between himself and the ninja figure. The figure rolled over,
sat up and sprang to its feet. It reached to its belt and plucked off
one of the steel ninja throwing stars. Frankie knew he would have but a
split second to react once the star was thrown. He readied himself. The
figure lifted the throwing star up to shoulder level and with a flick of
its wrist, it sent the throwing star whizzing through the air. A split
second was all he needed. Frankie turned his head. The throwing star
whizzed by, missing the back of his head by an inch, and landed
harmlessly on the floor behind with a bit of a clatter.

The figure did a tumble and roll on the floor, closing the gap
between itself and Frankie. Then it leapt up in the air, in an arc
heading directly towards Frankie. Quickly, Frankie ducked and without
looking or even having any time to look, struck his left hand,
balled up into a fist, up in the air. His fist made contact with the
figure's shin. There was a muffled exclamation of pain and the figure
tumbled out of the air and fell on its side on the floor.

Frankie ran to the other side of the warehouse, again trying to put some
distance between himself and the ninja figure. The figure got up again
and started running towards him. About twenty feet from Frankie, the
figure once again leapt into the air with one foot in strike
position aiming towards Frankie's chest. Frankie ducked, and the figure
sailed through the air right past him almost in a comical manner. It
landed on one of a big piece of junk that used to be a machine. The
figure appeared to stick to the machine. Then Frankie saw that it had
been impaled by spokes sticking out of the machine. A trickle of blood
dripped out from each point of the figure's body where a spoke had gone
through. As he watched, the blood dripped off the body and collected in
a puddle of red on the floor. Curious, he lifted the figure's hood and
removed the mask. It appeared to be a young lady cat, possibly one who
had just come of age. Rather surprised at this revelation, he took a few
steps back.

"Sssso" said Smith, who had been watching from the doorway all that
time, "you are better than I thought." He hissed in a state of pique. "I
guessss if you want ssssomething done right, you have to do it
yoursssself."

Smith slithered into the center of the warehouse and oriented himself
towards Frankie. 

Frankie turned around to face Smith. "Any more cat warriors? This one
was great and she remained crunchy even on machinery." He smirked, even
though that was one of the lamest lines he had ever come up with.

"Breakfast cereal notwithstanding, you will eat your words." Smith
hissed in anger as only a snake can hiss in anger.

Smith writhed and turned a bit. Almost at once, it appeared as though
his black vest exploded. Bullets came flying out of every compartment,
hidden or otherwise, of the vest. Whether the bullets were flying a bit
too slowly or he happened to be in ferret hyper mode, Frankie did not
know, but the bullets appeared to be flying lazily through the air
leaving visible trails of shock waves behind them. He bent over
backwards and the bullets sailed right by and struck the wall behind,
bouncing off and landing on the floor with a harmless clatter.

Frankie continued bending over backwards, went into a hand stand,
flipped over again and landed on his feet. He turned to Smith and said,
"Got any more?"

By that time, Smith was visibly red with rage, even though snakes were
not supposed to be able to do that. He screamed "Aarrgh!"

"Oh, I did not know it was Talk Like A Pirate Day," Frankie quipped.
He placed a hand over one eye and said "Arr arr matey." Then he giggled.

Smith coiled and uncoiled. Then he twisted and turned, and slithered
right to Frankie at an alarming speed. Then he seemed to compress
himself a little and sprang into the air towards Frankie. He opened his
mouth wide and Frankie could clearly see the enormous fangs of the
snake heading directly to his head and upper torso.

Seeing a snake coming towards him at top speed, Frankie ducked down.
Smith had not noticed but as Frankie was looking at the impaled cat
warrior, he palmed one of her small daggers. As he ducked down, Frankie
saw his chance. He could not bear to look so he simply thrust the dagger
straight up into the air with the sharp side of it pointing towards the
snake who was flying through the air. As Smith sailed past, Frankie
heard a sickening noise, somewhat like fabric shredding. Then the sound
stopped. The black vest, cut neatly down one side, fell to the floor and
landed in a heap. Frankie turned around and was shocked at what he saw.
Smith lay on the floor, cut up from one end nearly all the way to the
other. Blood oozed out from the long slit along his body.

Smith moaned. "Sss... Sh-Sh-Shado Ferret, I will get you for thissss."
He pondered that for a moment. "Okay, maybe I will not get you for
thissss." His head dropped to the floor.

Frankie was still in a bit of shock so he did another of his blank
stares.

Smith lifted his head a little and with his last breath, he said "Check
the pocketssss of my vesssst. It hassss what you need." Then his head
fell back to the floor and then Smith was still. Very, very still.

Frankie turned around, bent down and picked up the vest. It was truly an
engineering marvel. There was a miniature gun hidden in each of the many
pockets and pouches in the vest. There was an electronic firing
mechanism on each of the guns, and all of those boxes were wired to
battery packs, which were in the black plastic boxes attached to the
outside of the vest, and to small switches on the inside of the vest,
presumably activated by Smith's wriggling in a certain way. Rummaging
through the vest with care, Smith found a special pocket. Inside was a
business card for Manasquan Mannequins and Manufacturing. The logo on
the top left corner of the card was the letter M appearing three times
in dark grey, dark blue and light blue. He pocketed the card, turned and
walked out of the abandoned warehouse.