Road Rovers: The Blitzkreig Cometh
“Well, guys, are you ready to go?” asked Hunter. Instead of his usual attire, the retriever wore a red T-shirt, loose-fitting white shorts, and a green visor.
Exile lifted his head and blinked bloodshot eyes. “Sorry, comrade, but I am not feeling so cold. I think I may be coming down with a hot.” (Of course he meant, “Not feeling so hot…may be coming down with a cold) To emphasize his point, he coughed a few times.
“Oh, bummer,” said Hunter. “Well, I guess it’s just the four of us.”
Shag nodded, then paused as his phone rang. He pulled it out of his fur and answered. “Rerro? Rah. Ruh row ruh rur ruh.” He turned to Hunter and, placing a paw over the phone, uttered a further string of dog-words.
“You’re kidding me!”
“Ruh-ruh,” Shag shook his head.
“What’d he say?” asked Colleen, who was dressed in a white T-shirt and modest pink shorts.
“He says he forgot he’s supposed to be on a cooking show today.”
“Oh, brilliant,” muttered Colleen. That left just three for tennis: herself, Hunter…and Blitz.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” added Exile weakly. “Weird boy won’t be coming. He said he got coupon for a free manicure.”
Colleen rolled her eyes. “Fluffypants,” she muttered.
Hunter nodded and shrugged. “Well, Colleen, do you want to cancel the game, or just play it one-on-one?”
Colleen didn't answer, but she picked up her racket and followed Hunter to the Street Rover with an unmistakable smile on her lips.
As soon as they were out of sight, Exile reached up to his eyes and removed two contact lenses, each with a red, cracked-looking design on it. “These novelty lenses sure did the trick-ski,” he said cheerfully.
As Hunter and Colleen drove out of the base, they passed Blitz, who was a little too bothered at the moment to notice them. Pulling into the base, he glared at Exile and Shag. “Okay, who forgot to tell me the place was closed?”
Exile and Shag exchanged grins. Not only was the place closed, but the coupon they had given Blitz was expired.
Blitz looked around. “Where is everyone?” he wondered.
“Oh, they are long gone,” said Exile. “Hunter and Colleen, they have flown the jail like coop-birds.”
Blitz’s eyes widened. “What? How could they leave for the game without me? Everyone knows I am the best.”
“Dah,” remarked Exile facetiously. “You are in league by yourself.” He neglected to mention that being in his own league was the only way Blitz could be he best in a league or team of any kind.
“Well, never mind,” said Blitz. “I’ll catch up with them in no time.”
“Nyet! They are supposed to have space!” protested Exile.
“What are you talking about now?” asked Blitz, furrowing his brow.
“Shag and I got them to go, just the two of them. Is time they stop beating with hands around bush full of birds.”
“Okay, I have no idea what you just said, but now I’m definitely going.” And with that, Blitz revved the motor and peeled off in a cloud of smoke.
Exile looked at Shag. “Think we should stop the weird boy?” he asked.
Shag shrugged. “Ruhrro,” he replied. Then he noticed the clock. “Ruh ro. Rah rah ro,” he added, taking off. He had places to go, people to see, and food to cook on Chef TV.
Exile just shook his head. “I am getting stinking feeling about this.”
The game between Hunter and Colleen took place at a tennis club in a quiet town at the end of tourist season, which suited Hunter just fine. He liked being a superhero, and the attention that came with it was nice, but having started his life on a farm, he enjoyed a break now and then. Colleen, too, enjoyed a little time to spend away from crowds and noisy fights. But while both dogs had mellow tastes, their gameplay was anything but. With his super-speed, Hunter could intercept almost any shot. But Colleen's agility enabled her to maneuver almost as quickly around the court, and she could send the ball into directions Hunter wouldn't expect.
Blitz watched enviously from a bush on Hunter's side of the court, waiting. All he needed was for that ball to come his way, and... he smiled as he pulled a bomb out of his pocket. A bomb which, naturally, looked just like a tennis ball.
He didn't have to wait long. A hard swipe from Colleen sent the ball almost straight into his mouth.
“I got it,” said Hunter even though no one else was playing. He approached the bush and reached under, retrieving a ball. Blitz, meanwhile, had snuck backwards behind the shrub to stay out of sight. He crouched on the ground, fingers in his ears and eyes on the match through a tiny gap in the hedge. He could scarcely contain himself as he watched Hunter toss the ball up in the air, swing the racket, and...
… serve the ball to Colleen? Where was the boom? It should have sent him clear to Milwaukee! But the ball didn't explode, it just flew across the court.
Blitz stared in confusion at the ball in his hand. Had he left the real ball for Hunter to pick up by mistake?
The other ball flew over the hedge, landing at Blitz's feet. Perfect, he thought. I'll just switch dem now, and...
BOOM!
Hunter and Colleen stared as a cloud of fire erupted on the far side of the bushes. “Blimey!” exclaimed Colleen.
“Huh,” said Hunter, scratching his head. “I was sure we were using a real tennis ball.”
He looked back at Colleen, and the two of them stared at each other for a moment. With a shrug, Colleen walked over to the hopper (basket of tennis balls, to you laymen), plucked out a normal one, and tossed it to Hunter. “Still your serve, luv,” she called.
“I don't have love, I have thirty,” he protested.
Blitz watched the exchange from a nearby tree where the blast had thrown him. He was not amused. Or comfortable, for that matter. The fact that his waistband was snagged on the stump of a broken-off branch probably had some part in that.
The two played for a few hours before deciding to wander around a bit and look for something else to do. They chatted, all smiles as they approached the parking lot. But when they saw their car, their smiles disappeared. “What happened?” asked Hunter.
Colleen viewed the ruptured tires with a mixture of confusion and anger. It didn't take a genus to see that the damage was no accident. “Well offhand, I’d say someone has a rotten idea of a joke,” she answered.
“Yep,” said a mechanic half an hour later. “Looks like some clowns looking for a kick decided to slash your tires.”
“Oh, I’ll give them a kick if that’s what they want,” muttered Colleen.
“Eh, if it’s any comfort, this sort of thing doesn’t happen much here. Usually the troublemakers are found in the next town over.” He shrugged. “But there’s always a first time.” He rubbed his chin and stared at the hood. “I’d better take a look at the engine while I’m at it.”
Hunter pushed a button under the dashboard and the hood popped up. The mechanic stuck his head in, muttering to himself. “Yep,” he groused. Neither Rover was much of a mechanic – Exile generally handled jobs like that. But both of them could tell by his tone something was off. “Just as I thought,” he declared. “Somebody made off with your distributor cap, and they liberated a few other parts too.”
“Is that a problem?” asked Hunter, wishing Exile was there to interpret.
“You better believe it is,” the man grumbled as he emerged. He twitched his moustache back and forth as if his nose itched. “Looks like the wires to the cap were cut with a knife.”
“Can you fix it?”
“Of course I can fix it,” he said, sounding slightly indignant. Sticking a hand in his pocket, he added, “Unfortunately, I don’t have the parts here. I’ll have tow your car back to the shop for repairs.”
“I don’t think that’ll be a problem. How long will it take?”
“It’s gonna take a good while to get it done. You folks might want to walk around a bit, long as you’re waiting.”
“Sounds like a plan,” smiled Colleen.
Hunter glanced at his watch. “And I know just where we should go first.”
Fifteen minutes later, Hunter and Colleen were sitting at a table in a small restaurant. “Lucky for us, this place forgot to put up that three-word sign.”
“What three-word sign?” asked Colleen.
“No Dogs Allowed.”
“Some humans,” Colleen grumbled.
A waitress walked up, clearly a bit weirded out by the fact that she was about to take the orders of a pair of canines. “And what can I get for you?”
“I’ll have a burger with a side of fries,” said Hunter.
“And I’ll have the pork chops with some onion rings, please,” added Colleen.
“Uh-huh.” The waitress wrote down their order. “Anything to drink?”
“Root beer,” answered both Rovers in unison.
She jotted down their orders and walked away, a plastic smile concealing an inwardly dazed
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