Doug Morgan, Publicist-At-Arms
If it weren’t for bad luck, Doug wouldn’t have any luck at all. He was six months behind in mortgage payments, every creditor in town wanted a piece of his ass, and yesterday his wife left him–for a trapeze artiste.
As he sat staring out the front window of his low-rent store-front office, wondering how he could skip town without a trace, a tall man with long dark hair and a scraggly beard marched in. He wore a tattered medieval costume, complete with a ridiculous sword, and carried a large bag.
“Are you Douglas of Morgan?”
“Who wants to know?”
“Kilauashu of Telor seeks his advice and assistance.”
“Okay, Shu, I’ll play along with you. I’m Doug Morgan and I have to say this is a new low, even for a process server.”
“Your help is needed. Money is no object.”
Doug stood up. “You have my full attention. What is it you need?”
“An Army of Darkness.”
Doug sat down. Same shit luck. A fucking kook. He lifted the phone receiver to have his secretary call the police, then remembered she’d quit.
“Sir Douglas, I need an answer.”
The man blocked the only exit from the office. Time to play along with Mr. Delusional. Doug calculated how much he owed, and doubled it.
“The price of army recruitment has gone way up this year, what with all the conflicts in the Middle East. Good warriors are hard to find. This will take a huge ad campaign- radio, television, billboards, internet, buses, subways, the whole shooting match- to scare up some new, fit soldiers. For an Army of Darkness, I’m guessing it’s going to cost at least one million dollars–US currency.”
“I’ll give you $500,000 today and the rest when you’ve recruited ten thousand soldiers.” Shu dropped the canvas sack on the desk.
Doug opened it, half-expecting an exploding paint can. The bag was filled with thousand-dollar bills. Boy, this guy was over the top. Doug looked out the window. Where was a cop when you needed one? He looked back at Sir Nuts-A-Lot.
“Work with me, Shu. Who will you be battling?”
“Kogonazglor, the Ultimate Evil of the Dugou.”
“Okay, sure, that explains everything.”
The man smacked his hand on the desk. “Sir, do you mock me?”
“Listen–I’ve never hear of you or your evil empire. You walk into my office in a costume, for God’s sake, and hand me a bag of counterfeit money. Is this some kind of setup? Because I’m having a really shitty week. In fact, you could say my whole life is one gigantic toilet bowl–and I don’t need any more crap!”
Shu reached out, grasped Doug’s hand, and yanked him across the desk until their foreheads touched. Doug closed his eyes, and prayed the man wouldn’t kill him–or kiss him.
The thunder of hooves rumbled in his chest, and the smell of sweat, hay, and manure filled his nose. Visions of men on horseback, waving swords, screaming, throwing flaming torches, and chopping off heads burst into his mind. In the center of a circle of thatched huts, a woman wailed holding the body of a child. A giant in black armor strode over to her and rammed a spear into chest. Eyes wide open, blood pouring out of her mouth, she fell over, dropping the boy.
Doug gasped, pulled back, and stared into Shu’s blood-shot eyes.
“How soon do you want me to begin?”