Title: Something Wicked Cool This Way Comes

Author: Scribe

Fandom: Austin Powers/BtVS/Rat Race

Pairing: Scott Evil/Oz/Duane Cody

Status: Complete

Sequel/Series: The Evil Series, Sequel to I'm With the Band, Double Teaming, and Screw You, Paula Abdul

Archive: Any list I sent it to, otherwise ask.

Disclaimer: Really, shouldn't these delicious characters belong to the WORLD? Yeah, yeah, I know. I don't own 'em, I just let 'em play. No profit made.

Summary: Duane Cody's 'career' brings him to Vegas, and Scott makes a point of bringing Oz to meet him. Things get interesting when Devon and the rest of the Evil entourage tag along.

Warnings: multiple partners, most Seth Green inspired. :) Is this some sort of a record?

Notes: The title was inspired by one of my all time favorite authors (Ray Bradbury) and favorite stories, Something Wicked This Way Comes. MASSIVE amounts of slashiness in that story (and especially movie version), but with underage hints, durn it. Translations: Sie sind solch ein kleiner Mann--You're such a little man.

Rating: NC-17

Something Wicked Cool This Way Comes
By Scribe

*taptaptap*

*growl*

"Sorry, dude. Didn't mean to wake you. You really aren't a mornin' sort of person, are you?"

Oz sat up in Scott's bed, rubbing his eyes. "Ain't exactly that, man. It's gettin' close to my time of
the month."

Scott blinked. "Huh?"

"Nevermind." Oz rolled out of bed and went over to where Scott was sitting at his desk. The young Evil had resumed tapping keys. "Whatcha up to this time of the morning?"

Scott sounded delighted. "You know that Duane guy I told you about?"

"The Jace to our Joxer an' Jett? Yeah. What about 'im?"

"I found him. As I said before, you can find almost anyone on the net." He frowned. "Well, unless
they're a technophobic Luddite, or Amish, or something. Anyway, he's going to be in town this
weekend. I told him about you, and he wants to get together."

Oz grinned. "He's as cute as you, right? I'm up for it--literally."

"Wicked cool! He's gonna be at the parking lot of the Shazbar Mall tomorrow."

"At the lot? Crap, those mall lots are HUGE. How are we going to find him? And why at the lot? Why not inside at the food court? I can always do with a smoothie."

Scott shrugged. "I dunno, he just said the lot, and said he'd be easy to find. Anyway," Scott punched the power button, and the computer whined, the monitor going dark, "he's offline now. C'mon, let's go tell my mom."

As they walked down the corridor, Oz bumped Scott's shoulder, grinning. "You gonna ask you Mom's permission?"

Scott scowled at him. "Yeah. You got a problem with that?"

Oz raised his hands. "Hey, no!"

"She worries about me, okay?"

"I think it's cool. My own family tended to just let me run wild."

A few minutes later Scott was regretting his filial loyalties. "Zee Shazbar Mall parking lot, schatzie? Chust a minute." Frau had dug a section out of the newspaper, and said happily, "Ach, I sought so! Zey are haffing a carnival zer zis veekend! Und tomorrow iss family day! Vunderbar!"

"Um, Mom, really, I just want to go to meet a friend who's coming in from out of state," Scott protested.

"Zat's fine, liebling. Your fazzer und I can vander around, und you und your friend can visit. Zen maybe ve all come back to zee lair for kafe und cake, ja?"

Scott groaned. "I have to let Duane see Dad? M-o-m..."

He lifted his voice in a whine, but it didn't work. "It vill get your fazzer's mind off his latest scheme to blackmail zee government." She shook her head. "I dread haffing to tell him zat someone hass already invented caller ID, though setting up a special 976 number to gather material on zee politicians DOES haff some merit."

Scott sighed. "Oh, well. You're not gonna get your feelings hurt if we go off, are you?"

"Uff course not, mein liebling. You haff to haff some life apart from your old muttie, ja?" She pinched his cheek, beaming. "Sie sind solch ein kleiner Mann."

Scott blushed. "Okay, Mom. If we have to have Dad along, I want Number Two, too."

Frau beamed at this. "Good! He can use some relaxation. Zo I must admit zat since ze ECCH
disaster he has not been such a tightass." Scott coughed suddenly. Oz covered his mouth, making a choking sound. Frau frowned. "Are you two boys all right?"

Scott cleared his throat. "Yeah, Mom. Tomorrow evening, huh? Duane said business didn't really crank up till dark."

*****

Scott stared at the little group gathered before the Evilmobile. He looked at his mother and kicked his voice up to whine. "M-o-m... do we HAVE to take Mini Me?"

"Think, darlink. Do you VANT to leave him alone vith all your things?"

"Bummer, bummer, bummer! No, I guess not. This is going to be kind of crowded."

"Oh, it won't be much worse that the trip, since Mr. Bigglesworth is staying home," said Dr. Evil. "I'll drive. Frau can sit in the front with me, and Mini Me can sit between us. Then Scott, Devon, Number Two, and Oz can sit in the backseat."

"Kind of a squeeze, dude," Oz protested.

Number Two cleared his throat. "I... uh... Someone can sit on my lap."

"Dibs," said Scott promptly.

*THUDTHUDTHUD*

The ground trembled. Devon, being from California, jumped and ran for the exit, yelling, "EARTH QUAKE!"

Scott chased him down. "No, dude, no! Something not as widespread dangerous, but a hell of a lot more disgusting."

Fat Bastard waddled into the parking area. "So ya thought ya could weasel out an' leave me here on mah lonesome, eh? If you'll pardon tha expression--fat chance."

"There is NOT room!" Scott said firmly.

"Dun't be ridiculous." Fat Bastard opened the back door and squirmed his way into the cargo area. The SUV sank low on its shocks.

"Fantastic," Scott grumbled. "A home made low rider."

They drove to Shazbar Mall, (chasis rubbing against axel in back). The carnival was set up at the far end of the parking lot, and it sprawled out onto the grass verge. It was good sized for a traveling carny. It was in full swing, and they had to park a good bit away and walk in.

It was set up in more or less equal parts, with a rough corridor down the center. lined with food
stands. The group paused just at the entrance.

Scott sniffed, smiling. "Wow, the smells of carney. Popcorn, cotton candy, fried corn..." *drip* "hot dogs, hamburgers, funnel cakes..." *dripdrip* "corn dogs, candy apples, pork-ka-bobs, fried ice cream..." *dribbledribbledribble* "blooming onions, frito pie..." *GUSH*

Oz looked disgusted. "Damn. Someone hand Fat Bastard a bucket."

"Pay for it, Fat Bastard," Number Two warned him. "You know damn good and well you aren't fast enough to do a dine 'n dash, and I'm not bailing you out again."

"Dunna worry," Fat Bastard assured him. "Ah cashed in mah CDs before we came." He started waddling toward the first stand, a gleam in his eyes. The attendant took one look and started to throw bouqets of frozen corn dogs into the sizzling grease.

Frau licked her lips. "I'm chust going over to zat tent over zere for a drink. I sink zey might haff
beer." She headed toward the tent that was surmounted by a ten foot high inflatable mug of beer.

"Let's go find Duane," Scott said. He, Devon, Oz, and Number Two started down the midway, looking all about.

Dr. Evil and Mini Me tagged along after them. "No, Mini Me, you can't ride the Scrambler. See that stick? It says you have to be that tall to ride it. No, I don't think they'd measure you sitting on my shoulders. No, not the roller coaster, either. No, the Zipper has a restriction, too. And the Sombrero. Stop fussing, I'm sure there's SOMETHING here you can ride. Oh, look! Ponies!"

"Hey, I see a sign that says Cody up ahead." The group quickened their pace, weaving through the jostling crowd, and managed to lose the evil scientist and his clone. They stopped in front of a small travel trailer. There was a sign mounted over the side that said "Cody Clan Tats and Piercings" in smaller letters underneath is said "Second generation artists. We decorate or pierce ANYTHING".

There was a striped awning attached to the side of the trailer, with a couple of chairs under it. A short, slender young man, wearing a loud Hawaiian shirt and a battered fedora set far back on his strawberry blonde hair, was reading occupying one chair, reading an issue of Skin Illustration. The cover featured a man whose entire chest was decorated with the face of a Japanese anime character, his nipples in place of the big eyes.

As they approached, he glanced up casually. His face was immediately split by a huge grin, as he tossed down the magazine and jumped to his feet. "Evil!" He and Scott did the usual male 'slap your back, grab your ass, damn it's been a long time' greeting, with perhaps more emphasis on the 'grab your ass' aspect than was strictly traditional. "Damn, it's good to see you!" He looked Oz up and down. "And you weren't fucking kidding about the Twilight Zone factor, were you?"

Scott made introductions all the way around, then said, "Where's Blaine?"

Duane jerked his head back toward the trailer. "Him and Uncle Crud are with a client." A sharp scream came from the trailer, and Duane shook his head. "I knew that dude was going to have a hard time. I kept telling him 'Yeah, so you've had your ears done six times, and your tongue, and your navel, and your eyebrow, and your nose, but believe me... the foreskin is a whole nother level.' Dumb fucks never listen."

"Uncle Crud?" asked Number Two.

"Stands for Christian Rudolpho Upton Demosthenese." Duane shrugged. "He's the oldest. After that Grandad had enough sense not to get drunk until AFTER the birth certificate was filled out."

"This is your job?" Scott asked. "You're a tattoo artist?"

"Oh, not for a couple of years yet. Blaine and I are apprentised to Uncle Crud, and it's really thanks to you, Scott."

"Um... that's a bit of a stretch, Duane. How do you figure it?"

"Well, you remember Blaine's tongue piercing?"

Scott flinched. "The one that made him look like he'd lapped up purple ink? Yeah, I remember." Pause. "He still has the tongue?"

"Sure. You'd be surprised what a month of antibiotics can do. Anyway, you remember how you'd advised that he rinse his mouth with peroxide?" Scott nodded. "Well, I video taped it. It looked like one of those cheesy fake volcano experiments with baking soda and vinegar. I submitted it to I Can't BELIEVE That! and we won second prize!" He scowled. "I STILL say that the cat chomping that guy on the crotch wouldn't have been all that funny if the guy hadn't looked like
Clinton and the cat hadn't been wearing a collar that said 'Monica'. Anyway, we won three thousand dollars, and we bought into Uncle Crud's business! He's gonna train us and eventually turn over the trailer and the RV we travel in." He spread his arms happily. "Man, tatts and piercings are a growning concern, and not likely to fade away."

The door to the trailer opened. A twentysomething young man stumbled down the steps and began to move off in a sort of crab walk, bent at the waist and clutching his crotch, his face as pale as cheese. A large man, shirtless, followed him out and stared after him, muttering, "Goddam amature. Didn't even know enough to get drunk 'fore he came in to have his sausage skin poked."

"Uncle Crud," Duane called him over. "This is the guy I was telling you about. My friend--Scott."

Introductions were made. Crud had a respectable beer belly, and the flesh of his arms had started to soften, but he had once been an impressive man. His entire torso and his arms, down to his elbows, were a swirl of red, blue, black, and green, so many designs that you'd need time, a good light, and a magnifying glass to pick them all out. "Pleased to meet you. Gotta thank you for making it possible for my nephew to come into the business. Duane has a real feel for this sort of work."

"What about Blaine?" Scott asked.

Duane and Crud exchanged looks. Crud said slowly, "Blaine... tries."

"He's not all that bad," Duane protested. "He just... uh... well, he's a little dyslexic, so if you want any text tattooed on, you'd better be damn sure..."

"We had a biker named Lemick who wanted his name tattooed across his back," said Crud. "That's all--just his name. I thought I'd let Blaine try it. I had a phone call. I came back and he had 'Lick me' across a Bandito's back in letters two inches high. Luckily the guy was too drunk to notice. He left, we left. I love the kid, but he needs WORK."

"You gonna need me for awhile, Unc? I'd like to go renew acquaintances with Scott."

"You gonna wear your slicker if it rains?" Number Two frowned, looking up at the sky with his palm outstretched. He didn't see Duane (much to Scott, Devon, and Oz's appreciation) flash a box of condoms at his uncle. Crud nodded. "Good kid." He slapped a still puzzled Number Two on the back. "He's already learned one of the major rules of body art: cleanliness comes first, even before you do."

"Scott," Number Two said as the boys prepared to walk off, "would you mind if I, um, 'hung out' here for awhile?"

Scott shrugged. "Sure, suit yourself." As they left, Crud was ushering the dapper second-in-command of the Evil empire into a lawn chair, and offering him a beer.

The quartet strolled back up the midway, chattering. They occasionally drew startled stares from the other patrons. A couple of pre-pubescent girls stopped them and asked if they were a new boy band. Scott informed them that they were called The Sugarboys, and that Devon was their manager. They all ended up jamming into a 'take your picture' booth with the squealing, giggling girls, then signing the back of the resulting strip of pictures. As they waved the girls away, Oz remarked that the scary thing was, such an act had real possibilities.

Duane said, "Ya know, that's the sixth food stand we've past that has an 'Out of Food' sign on it. What gives?"

"Just six?" said Scott. "Fat Bastard must've eaten before we came here."

Devon pointed. "There's an awful crowd around the Tilt-a-Whirl. Let's go look. They might have had an accident." They pushed their way to the front of the crowd. The ride, a circular platform with upright half-sphere cars that would roll and swing individually, was off kilter. Usually the platform didn't tilt till it was up and moving. Right now it was tilted farther than Scott had ever seen on. That was probably because one car was stuffed absolutely full of Fat Bastard. The ride operator was talking to him, while nervous patrons in the cars that were on the elevated section of ride clung to the sides of the seats, feet dangling.

"I'm tellin' ya fah tha last time, Mac..."

"Tha name innt 'Mac', ya blasted idjet. It's Fat Bastard."

"Listen, I can't get tha frickin' safety bar down over ya, so ya ain't ridin. Even if I COULD get it down, tha frickin' ride would throw sparks scrapin' tha ground, so haul your butt OUT, an'..."

They moved off. Duane blinked and started over toward the kiddie section. The others followed. "What's up, man?" Oz asked.

"Well, I just wondered if this resemblence things was catching." He pointed at the Teacup ride. Dr. Evil and Mini Me were in one of the cups, swirling around at a stately pace. Mini Me was scowling, arms crossed. Dr. Evil was in the process of puking over the side.

Scott covered his eyes briefly, then led everyone away. "I swear, if it wasn't for Mom, I'd wish I was a foundling or something."

They were just passing a beer selling tent. Devon stared, then said, "Scott, your mom is a little woman, wears mostly grey dresses, keeps her hair short, and likes to sing Wagner, right?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Isn't that her standing on the bar, hogging the kareoke machine?"

Scott looked. "Damn, they must have German beer on tap. Usually it takes schnapps to get her to that point."

Devon, Oz, and Duane watched. Duane whistled. "Wow. High kicks." The three boys chorused, "C-o-o-l."

"She's having fun," said Scott. "Let's not interrupt her. She kinda feels obligated to act matronly around me." They kept walking.

"Hey!" Scott pointed eagerly. "Mirror maze! I LOVE those."

"Well, come on, then," Duane led them over. "I can get us in free."

They went to the booth. "Hey, Shirl." The skinny girl in the booth grinned, showing a couple of gaps. "Howsabout letting me and my buddies in?" She silently waved them in, showing a lush crop of gingery hair in her pit. "She and Blaine are going together," Duane said as they entered.

As they stepped up to the entrance Scott said, "Shirl doesn't talk much, does she?"

"Not since she got Blaine to give her a tongue piercing. Doc says it should heal up in a few weeks, then she'll be back to chattering. Okay, we enter one at a time, waiting a count of five between each. Whoever makes it out first gets to pick the next ride." He stepped into the maze.

Devon, Oz, and Scott started counting. "One... two... three..."

"I'm next," said Oz, "and I'm gonna be looking for a prize BEFORE I get to the other end. Four and five." He darted into the maze. *bam* "Ow. Look out for turns."

Devon and Scott eyed each other, grinning, and started counting. "One... two..."

"I'm grabbing whatever I can in there," Devon informed Scott. "threefourfive." He slipped into the glass corridor.

"One..."

"Thay!" Scott turned around at the indignant shout. Shirl had hold of Fat Bastard's shirt and was trying to tug him back as he advanced on the maze entrance (and, consequently, Scott), his eyes glittering. "Oo 'an't oh in air!"

Fat Bastard tossed a bill at her. "Leggo o' me, ya daft bint. Scottie, boy!" he leered. "Ya need me ta lead ya through that maze. Let me just take hold o' your fly..."

Scott experienced a second of 'deercaughtintheheadlightsitis', and Fat Bastard was almost upon him before he could move. With a scream, he turned and dashed into the maze. Fat Bastard was
right behind him. Scott could hear the squeak of the mammoth Scotsman's sides against the glass walls as he pounded down the long, narrow corridor. "Shit!" he panted, "why am I having visions of Harrison Ford and the boulder in Raiders of the Lost Ark?"

Scott turned a corner and ran into Devon, which knocked Devon into Oz and Duane. Bare flesh splatted as it hit the glass, and there were multiple yelps and a "Damn, that glass is COLD on the balls!"

"Pants up and RUN!" Scott yelled. "There's a horny plaid avalanch right behind me!"

There were multiple shrieks and a general scramble as trousers were raised far enough for their wearers to run without being tripped. "Follow me!" Duane shouted. "I know the way out." They all hustled, and managed to get out of the maze with only a few crashes into their own reflections.

Outside they paused long enough to do up buttons and zippers, earning interested looks from some of the passerbys. "I think we're safe," Scott panted. Swearing, with a thick Scottish burr, was floating out. "I think he got stuck in that first turn. Still, I'd like to get somewhere out of sight."

"I know just the place. C'mon." Duane led them to a big, closed in ride. It's facade was made up to resemble a haunted house, with bloody skeletons and ghosts hanging out the windows. "The Spook Show is shut down right now." He opened a panel in the side. "But I know how to get in."

They all slipped inside and climbed a short set of steps up onto the platform. "Careful, guys, don't
trip over the rails. Hold hands..." He yelped as someone unseen grabbed his ass. "I said hands, hands. For now, anyway. There are wide spots set up for scenes. I know one I'm looking for." They trailed Duane farther into the dark interior. "It's up near the front."

There was a sharp yelp in the dark and someone (it sounded like Scott) yelped, "Dude! I just tripped on somebody's head!"

"That's the Sleepy Hollow scene. Don't go groping the Johnny Depp statue. They use those boring sexless manniquin bodies, anyway." There were several disappointed sighs.

They edged along a little farther. Finally they stopped. "Here we go. The 'don't drive drunk or
you'll get your ass scrambled' scene," Duane said.

Devon squinted. "Dude, it's like trying to look at a raven eating licorice in a coal mine during a lunar eclipse."

"Just a sec," said Scott. *snap* A faint green glow lit up the immediate area. All the other young men looked at Scott. "What? It's a glowstick. I always carry one. You never know when you're gonna run into a rave."

The boys looked around. There was a huge heap of crumpled metal, starting to rust from the looks of it. What appeared to be bloody bodies dangled from it--two hanging out the window, one laying half on the hood in a welter of broken windshield glass. "They have to gather up the glass when they move, then lay it back down at the next stop," explained Duane. He picked up a shard. The other boys screamed when he took a bite out of it. He crunched, then grinned. "Special effects. Sugar glass."

Scott slapped him on the back of the head. "Don't DO that to me! My blood pressure still isn't down from that near miss with Fat Bastard."

Duane grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the car. "Let's get in the back seat and see if I can't give you a heart attack. First, though, we gotta clean out the back seat."

With Oz and Devon's help they dragged the dummies out of the car, dumping them beside the scene, near the tracks. Devon said, "Is there gonna be enough room in there for all of us? That floor looks cold and splintery."

"Dude, this is a '55 Thunderbird," Duane assured him. "My graduating class could've had an orgy in here."

As they packed in Oz said dubiously, "Are you sure about that?"

"Well, granted not many of my class actually GRADUATED." He started opening Oz's pants while Scott put the glowstick on the seat, lighting the interior of the car with a faint, sickly green glow. "Hoist your butt up on the top of the back seat, man. The back window is out--you'll have room."

Oz did, and Duane moved up on the seat, kneeling between Oz's spread knees to begin giving him head. Devon and Scott watched for a moment. Oz was visible from the waist down, his feet wiggling happily on either side of the kneeling Duane. Since they were behind them, Devon and Scott couldn't see exactly what Duane was doing, but the bobbing motions of his head and the enthusiastic slurps made it pretty clear.

Scott fumbled in Duane's pants pocket. Duane paused in his ministrations, saying, "If that's for me, Scott, farther to the right."

"Just getting ready to set up," Scott responded, pulling out the condoms. "Devon, be a good guy and help Duane with his pants while I put one of these on."

"Only if I get some of whatever I uncover. You planning to fuck him."

"Pants down on both sides, condom... Hello?"

"Yeah, I know, stupid question. Just wanted to be sure." Devon slapped Duane on the back. "Say,
Duane-dude, would you object to me sucking you off while Scott fucks you?"

"MMMPH?!"

Scott was tearing open a foil pack. "I think that translates as 'Stop wasting time'. You'll have to
crawl over to the other side, kneel or lay down, and slide under."

"Fine by me," Devon shrugged. "I'll just stick my feet out the side window--that should give me enough room. Lemme just get my pants open before I do so I can jerk off..." *zip*

"Hold on a second," said Scott. *petpetpet*

Devon sighed. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. When you get under there, wait a minute for me to get seated before you swallow him. Don't want any slips when I push in."

"Glumprghl."

"That," Scott translated, "means 'we damnsure DON'T want any slips'."

Oz's voice came back to them. "Will you two PLEASE quit distracting him?!"

Devon wiggled his head under Duane's kneeling body, stretching his long legs so that, from the knees down, they dangled out the window. "Let's see if I can reach." *slurp*

Oz yelped, "Ooo! Do that again, Devon!" *slurp* "DAMN! Pleeeease keep it up."

*slurpslurplickslurpsmeck* *licksmeckmmphslurp*

"Whoa!" Scott enthused. "Stereo." He looked down so that he could properly apply the condom, and squealed. "Glow in the dark! Damn, you're fun, Duane!" *smooth* "Good, this is already lubed. Dev? Careful with the teeth, buddy. I'm gonna be prospecting, here."

*probe* *moan* *probe* *slurp* *squish* *laplaplap*

"Grrrroooooowwwlllloooooooooaah!"

*gulp* *pant* Duane gasped, "Now THAT'S appreciation!"

Oz said sheepishly, "Sorry."

"Are you kidding?" Duane grunted as Scott worked a second finger into his ass, pushing him forward and deeper into the hot haven of Devon's mouth. "That's exactly the sort of sound they EXPECT to come out of the Spook Show."

"I think I'm just gonna lay back and rest a little, you guys," Oz said. He stretched out on the trunk
lid, leaving his legs dangling inside the car and enjoying Duane's panting breath over his now sticky crotch.

There was a whimper, and a soft spattering sound. Duane grunted. "I know that the roof of this thing doesn't leak, so that had to be you, Devon. I sure hope you didn't get any on my hat."

Devon answered dreamily. "I'll lick it clean if I did."

"Scott," said Duane, "you have some REAL interesting friends."

"Wicked cool, huh? Brace yourself, dude." *grunt*

*grunt* "Oooo, boy! DEVON!" *jerk* "WARN me when you're going to lick me there, man!"

Duane sighed. "I LIKED it."

*chuckle* "You WOULD, you slut."

"Slut, yourself, Scott."

*thrustthrustthrustthrustthrust*

*SCREEEEEEEAM!*

"Shit! I'm sorry, Duane, I'm just getting a little carried away, and..."

"That wasn't me, Evil." *mooooooan* "That wasn't me, either. Devon?"

"Nuh-uh. Oz?"

"Huh?" *BWHAA HAA HAA HAAAAAAA* "It wasn't THAT funny, was it?"

*creak* *rumble* A dim light came on over the car.

"Crap!" Duane yelled. "I thought they weren't supposed to open up tonight."

"Fuck!" Scott panted, hips still moving quickly. "You mean to tell me that a load of rubes is about to come past?"

"Exactly. It'll be here any second. There's no time for us to hide. Well, the light is dim, maybe if
we're really, really still they'll think we're part of the display, and we can get out before the next one comes along. Everyone hold still."

"Oh, damn! Easy for YOU to say," Scott moaned.

"Not really, dude. I'm about to come. It won't take much more, but be STILL!" Duane begged.
*rumblerumbleRUMBLE* "Here they come."

A small cart turned the corner and began to trundle slowly past them. The four boys froze as a tripped switch started a recording of screeching tires, crumpling metal, shattering glass, and horrid screams. A deep voice intoned "THE BLOODY TOLL OF DRIVING UNDER THE INFLUENCE."

The faces of the two girls and two guys in the car were pale blurs in the dim light, but the gaping
mouths and wide eyes were visible. They could hear their voices over the recorded noise.

Boy 1: "What the FUCK were they under the influence OF?"

Boy 2: "I don't know, but I want to know where I can get me some."

Girl 1: "Oh, mygawd. That two in the back look like they're 'doing it'."

Girl 2: "The dumbasses consider THAT horrible?" Stares. "What? You all know I write slash. They look cute together."

"Fuck it," Scott whispered, and started pumping.

Boy 1: "Look, it's animated!"

Boy 2: "DAMN animated."

Girl 1: "Why can't you have that much spring in YOUR butt?"

Girl 2: "Hey, I think the eyes of that one on the back are GLOWING! Holy, shit, guys! I think they're ALIVE!"

As the car rumbled around the next turn the four in the Thunderbird heard one of them say, "Scribe, you read ENTIRELY too much Poppy Z. Brite."

Scott came just in time to blend with the last scream on the loop. When he noticed that Scott had stopped moving, Devon quickly reached up and deep throated Duane, bringing the final member of the quartet to completion. They all quickly did up their pants to the sound of the next car approaching, then snuck back down to the panel and made their way outside.

Once outside they all leaned against the side of the attraction, exchanging satisfied grins. Duane
stretched. "Let's go check back in with Uncle Crud. If things are busy I'll need to hang around for crowd control and shit. If it's quiet we can find some other mischief to get up to. I'll show you guys how to beat the games and get all the stuffed animals, posters, and cheap jewelry you want."

"Won't that piss off the operators?" Oz asked as they walked.

Duane shrugged. "Each one of those cost them all of about fifty cents. Just don't take any one game for more than one or two prizes and it'll be all right. Hell, it could HELP them. The rubes will see you walk off with a four-foot-tall stuffed Tweety Bird and then spend twenty bucks trying to do the same."

There was no one in front of the trailer, but a near dozen empty beer bottles made testement to the fact that SOMEONE had had a good time. The trailer door was shut and the sign hanging on it said 'WORKING'. From inside came the whine of an electric needle.

Duane knocked on the door. "Yo, Crud!"

The whine stopped. "That you, Duane?"

"Yeah. You gonna need me?"

"I don't think so. They said it would only take Blaine about an hour to make the statement, then he
could go in tomorrow to file charges."

They all looked at each other. "Uncle Crud, what happened?"

The whine started again. "Well, not long after you left Shirl came over all upset about some guy who wouldn't get out of the Mirror Maze, so Blaine went over to help her. Seemed that it wasn't so much the guy WOULDN'T as it was he COULDN'T."

"But why would Blaine have to make a statement about that?"

"Well, you know how he likes working topless, to show off the handiwork? He went in the exit and worked his way around, figureing he could push the guy back out. This guy takes one look at the nipple rings and sorta grabs Blaine, and..."

"My baby brother?! I'LL DE-NUT THE MOTHERFUCKER!"

"Calm down, Duane. Nothing happened. Shirl bopped him from behind with a tent stake. Blaine was just upset--he'll be fine."

Duane growled. Scott patted him comfortingly. "Duane, he'll be doing a few days at least on jail
food. Believe me, he WILL want to die. Mr. Cody? Do you know where Number Two went?"

"The natty dude with the eye patch? Sure. He's in here."

"He's watching you tattoo someone?"

"N-o-t exactly. See, I was showing him all my photos of the work I've done on different people, and he was pounding down the beers, and about the fifth one he asked if I did 'to order' original jobs."

"What?!" Scott's tone was high pitched with delight. He raised his voice. "Tooey, are you really getting a tat?"

There was a chuckle. "He can't hear you. Just in case we applied some liquid anesthesia. He did a couple of shots of Jack Daniels before I started."

"Oh, man! I can't wait to see this. What is it? A heart on his bicept? A battleship on his chest? 'I
Heart Starched Shirts'? TELL ME!"

The door opened, and Crud grinned at him. "Come on in and see it."

Scott hesitated, despite his rampant curiosity. "Will he mind?"

"Oh, I don't think so. He said it was for you, anyway."

Scott blinked. "For me?" He hesitantly stepped up into the trailer. The walls were papered with
stencils of everything from airplanes to zuni dolls--examples of what the adventurous could have
inked into their skin. There was a padded table for customers to lie on while they got a tattoo in places that would be otherwise occupied if they sat down.

Number Two was stretched out on the table on his belly, arms folded under his chin, head turned to the side, visible eye closed, snoring. His pants and underwear were hanging around his knees, his bare butt looking very round, smooth and interesting for a guy his age.

Scott crept closer, trying not to wake him. Number Two snored gently. *Aw, he's so cute when he's asleep. Wait a minute... Pants down? He DIDN'T!"

He did. The tattoo wasn't big, altogether just about as big as his thumb. It was simple--clean, black lines under a thin, shiny coat of antiseptic ointment. There was a bandaid sitting on the table nearby, ready to be applied.

Scott read the tattoo, feeling his throat tighten and tears prick his eyes. There in gothic letters, were two words, one over the other--Scott Rocks.

"Ohh," he breathed. "Wicked cool."

END