Time(stands still): Inside the Grimm Five A. God And His Band Of Uglies Pistol-Whup C.A.R.L.O...Almost.
Alone now that H^aGnt'l has pitched himself into a black hole, God glances around the immaculate alley. It has an antiseptic look to it. It's too clean. He doesn't like it.
"Waste a' effort," He mumbles raising an eyebrow. Pop! The alley is back the way it was when H^ lived there. "That's better...suits the li'l twerp better, this way."
H^aGnt'l, God realizes, is the kind who'd bitch if he was hung with a new rope. H^ didn't really want the alley cleaned up. He just wanted to complain.
God walks to the fence, now all rickety and broken like it was before. He puts His eye to the little black hole through which H^ escaped. "Nuthin'."
(Of course, nothing. It's a black hole, God!)
"Wonder what kep' the boy glued to this knothole if'n thar's nuthin' ta look at?" God shrugs and turns away. "...best git back to thet thar computer before m' boys gits outa hand"
God smiles at the thought of "His boys." He's always wanted to ride at the head of a band of ugly outlaws. He starts to walk toward the entrance to the alley, but stops as a quick vision of Anna and the latest installment of Frog Blankets appears.
"Gol darn," He muses. "Thet li'l lady is larnin' to write! She jus' might pull this thang off!" He gazes affectionately at Anna, who, all in all, has pleased Him. As He poofs back to the neon sign shop to begin working over C.A.R.L.O., he muses that His job would be a lot easier if all His creatures were as "savvy as thet 'un."
God gets back to the shop an instant before he left it. He turns to his grungy crew. "Spread out, men. 'N keep yer eyes peeled. I'll be right back." The ten ugly guys, who are already spread out and peeling, get a profound sense of deja vu (well, not profound....)
"We're already spread out," the first ugly guy says.
"Yeah," say the sixth through tenth ugly guys (except for the seventh, who's peeing into the sand again).
God ignores them and turns toward the wall to fetch H^aGnt'l. Then He remembers. (Remembers what?)
"Oh, yeah. Wa'll, as you was, then."
God calls the fourth and fifth ugly guys to His side. The three of them advance menacingly upon C.A.R.L.O. "Myself knows, I hate ta do this to ya, young feller. But, ya'll look like the dependable, loyal type o' chap who'll never talk unless I pistol-whup 'im."
"Never mind that," C.A.R.L.O. says. "Where's H^aGnt'l? What did You do to him?"
"Li'l cuss got away. Jumped into a knothole. Now, 'bout this here pistol-whuppin'... ."
"I'll talk," C.A.R.L.O. says.
"Ya will?" Ya'll ain't even gonna try to put up a fight?"
"Fight?" The concept escapes C.A.R.L.O. He works in RAM, which gladly gives up information as long as it's requested in a manner the computer can understand. To C.A.R.L.O., a pistol-whupping is imminently understandable.
"Wa'l, good...thet's good. Tell me ever'thin' ya know 'bout a fella named Jonathan Bell."
"Zippo," C.A.R.L.O. said after scanning RAM. "Nada. Nothing in memory. Try the hard disks."
"The what?"
"The disk drives. If the information is important, it must have been written to a disk."
God scratches His head. He hates computer talk! He doesn't understand it. He wishes Jonathan was here. "...'course it's important! It's about my computer prophet--"
"Prophet?" C.A.R.L.O. cries. "You mean H^aGnt'l? That prophet?"
"So he's been braggin', has he? Figgers. Only, it ain't him who's gonna be the prophet...it's Jonathan Bell."
"H^ taught him all he knows," C.A.R.L.O. says in defense of his friend.
"Hmmph--"
"What is this file about? If You don't mind my asking..."
"Mind? I don't mind, boy. This dern computer done put tagether a file on Jonathan 'n I want ta know what it found out." God paces back and forth before C.A.R.L.O. "Specifically, 'bout th' killin' a' Becky Blank, 'n innercent child."
"He couldn't have done it."
"He couldn't? How d'ya know?"
"Because I know him! Well, I know H^aGn'tl. He isn't capable of murder."
God shakes His head. "So...ya don't really know. Yer jus' givin' Me a character ref'rence. Shucks, boy, I don't thank he done it, neither, but I need proof." Morosely, God paces some more, which makes C.A.R.L.O. nervous because a morose God is a God looking for someone to pistol-whup.
Suddenly, God stops pacing. He cocks His head as though listening to something. Then, He squints as though looking at something. "Ah'll be danged!" He explodes. He snatches His hat from His head and slaps it against His thigh in disgust. "Looky here! Poor Jonathan is layin' in 'is office all comatose 'cause his soul, or whate'er ya'll are callin' it these days, has just pitched itself into a black hole, and here two idiots are plotin' ta kill 'im! Mount up, boys!" He calls to His ugly cohorts. "We're ridin' to the rescue!"
The ten ugly guys look uncomprehendingly at each other. These aren't the type of guys who ride to the rescue; they're the type one is rescued from.
"Oops! Hold on thar..." God closes His eyes, the better to concentrate on His vision. "Whoa! What's this?" A grin comes onto His face. "That's it! Sic the dawg on 'im!" He watches with mounting enthusiasm as Gretl terrorizes Jonathan's would-be killers. "Oh, ho! Whar'd thet neon thang come from? Now, thet's intimidatin'! Make it fall down, now! Thet'll git 'er! Heh, heh. Look at 'er run! Thet thar Gretl, she's somethin'! I never knew a computer could do thet! Whoa! Looky at him...turned him inta an old fart! Thet's what he gets!" As the vision closes, God puts His hat back on and turns to C.A.R.L.O. "Now, thet's what I call a vision! Wish they all was like thet. Whar'd ya say them disks was?"
C.A.R.L.O. points east, across the sun-baked desert, to where a mighty range of mountains saw at the clear blue sky. These are big mountains; even God thinks so. You and I would think they were the Himalayas, unless we'd seen the Himalayas, in which case we'd think the Himalayas were foothills. But, for now, the Himalayas make a good comparison. Go ahead and think of them as the Himalayas. At the base of the mighty mountains, God can see a greenish smudge. Smog.
"Aw, shucks," God moans. "Downtown?"
C.A.R.L.O. nods.
God shakes His head. "I don't git no breaks." He turns to his gang. "Mount up! We're goin' ta town!"
"Whoopee!" the ten ugly guys whoop. In a flash they are riding pell-mell across the desert, hollering and slapping their hats on the rumps of their ten ugly mounts, and yelling about all the bad stuff they are going to do in town and the seventh ugly guy hasn't even bothered to zip up his pants.
"He's goin' ta lose thet thang, he don't put it away," God drawls. He turns to C.A.R.L.O. "Take care young feller. If'n ya see thet pesky varmint, H^aGnt'l, tell 'im we ain't settled scores, yet."
He mounts the pearly white horse and They canter off toward the snot-colored stain.