Redtooth
By Brian Rathbone
Copyright 2010 Brian Rathbone
Published by White Wolf Press, LLC
Smashwords Edition
Duct tape.
With delicate precision, Bob applied just enough pressure to the scalpel to carve out a narrow silver strip. Wearing a headband with a magnifying glass on one side and a light on the other, he used jewelers' pliers to apply the strip along the edge of his Bluetooth headset, just where it was coming apart.
"You look like an idiot," came the voice of his long-suffering wife, Sheila. This was said with a familiar tone, which meant: "I love my husband, but I think he may have lost his mind."
Bob didn't look up, "I'm just fixing a minor problem with my headset."
"You're going to look like a moron every time you wear that thing."
This statement was said in a tone that Bob also knew well, it was the one he heard when he did things like get the newspaper in his favorite old boxer shorts, which just happened to be purple with red hearts on them, or any of the other things he did that seemed to make the neighbors think less of him.
"Why don't you just get a new headset," Sheila pleaded. "Look at that thing; it's falling apart. And these new Greentooth headsets are way nicer. The range is better, the batteries last longer, and look how small this thing is?"
Bob tried to hide the fact that he hadn't realized she was wearing her new headset. "This one has history," he said. "The first time I ever heard your voice was on this headset; how can I throw away such a significant piece of our past?"
"Then put it in a shoebox with our old love-letters and pictures," she said. "I'm going out with the girls, but when I get back, we're going shopping; there are some things you need."
"Sure. OK. That sounds fine," Bob said, already thinking of ways to get out of shopping with Sheila. "I'm not cheap," he thought, "I'm just resistant to change." It had always been a challenge for him, since things in life insisted on changing without his consent and without giving him any prior notice whatsoever. When he found something that worked for him, he stuck with it until life left him no other choice.
Sheila was different. Whatever new gadget or trendy technology came along, she had to have it. While everything in her life was wireless, Bob still preferred trusty old copper. The Bluetooth headset had been a big change for him when he'd purchased it a decade before, and he wasn't ready to part with it. He told himself that he just hadn't found the right one to replace it yet. Knowing that denial could be reinforced with self-justification, he recalled that not so long ago someone had complimented him on his headset, saying that his was the best model ever made and that they didn't make 'em like they used to. As he attached a final strip of tape for structural reinforcement, he examined his handiwork and smiled. If he squinted just right, he could barely tell the duct tape was there.
The time had come for a preemptive strike. If Sheila thought he needed some new things, then it would be far better for him to go shopping alone, and he started a mental list of the things she might think he needed: boxer shorts, socks, toothbrush, and one of those things you use to trim ear hair. Those were the only things he came up with, and he repeated the list back to himself, trying not to get distracted by the nagging question: why the heck was hair growing in his ears? Sheila would have used her Greentooth headset to record the shopping list as an audio transcription in her netCal, but Bob was just fine with the fact that he might forget one of the items on his list. It certainly wouldn't be the ear hair remover.
While driving to Chin's Pawn Shop in a car that was running on bacon grease, used cooking oil, and just a hint of refried beans, Bob reminded himself that he was not cheap. He did not intend to buy boxer shorts or socks at the pawnshop. Maybe the ear hair trimmer, but it would have to come in the original box, he told himself, or Sheila would never understand. In truth, he was going there for something entirely for himself, but he was torn from his thoughts as the car behind him began to follow too closely. In his mirror was a stern-faced man wearing dark sunglasses and who appeared to be in something of a hurry. Bob considered speeding up but didn't want trouble with the law, and they were not far from the pawnshop. He decided to simply engage his turn signal well in advance.
To his surprise, the car behind him veered off the road and came to a sudden stop just before the pawnshop entrance. Bob pulled in slowly, having a strange feeling in his gut, but Chin had said a special shipment was coming in, and he didn't want to miss his opportunity. Looking back, he saw that the car was now empty, and he wondered for a moment where the stern-faced man had gone.
"Best to just get on with it," he thought as he entered the pawnshop. Brass bells on a leather strap made a tinkling racket as the heavy, reinforced-glass door slammed shut, but Chin was nowhere to be seen. A flash of movement caught Bob's attention as another car pulled to the side of the road.
"You want something?" asked an unfamiliar voice, and Bob jumped. A man with a heavy brow and thick fingers stood behind the counter.
"Where's Chin?" Bob asked.
The man just shrugged, "Needed time off. I'm filling in."
The bad feeling in Bob's gut returned; Chin hadn't said anything about taking time off. Bob considered walking out, but something about the cars stopping outside made him stay, and he examined the man behind the counter more closely. He was older, heavy-set, and seemed more dim-witted than dangerous, but Bob couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. "Did you get a shipment of headsets in?" he asked despite his misgivings. "Chin said he had something special coming for me." Secretly, Bob had been hoping Chin had found an identical Bluetooth headset that he could use for parts.
"Yup. Got headsets."
Bob pulled his headset from his ear with deliberate care, knowing that the hinge was starting to crack. "I'm looking for one exactly like this."
The man eyed the headset with distaste. "None like this one. Have new ones. New ones better. You buy new one."
"I don't want a new one, thanks. I'm happy with this one. Best ever made."
"This?" the man asked. "This is junk." Then he slammed his thick-fingered fist down on Bob's precious Bluetooth headset. "See? This one's broke. It's junk. You need new one."
"You just broke my headset!" Bob would have launched into a whining tirade, but some instinct made him look outside, and he saw the stern-faced man sneaking up on the second car that had stopped outside.
"Buy something or leave," said the man behind the counter. "Got things to do."
Bob would have stormed out, but something still told him not to go outside.
"Here, try this one. It's good," the man said, and then he handed Bob an earpiece so small and light that he would probably forget he was wearing it.
"What kind is this?"
"Redtooth. It's new. It's good."
"Who makes it?"
"From China. It's new. It's good. Stick it in your ear," the man said, pointing to his bulbous ear with a sausage-like finger.
"Yeah, but-"
"Stick it."
"I would but-"
"Stick it."
"In my ear?" Bob asked, suddenly deprived of his senses by the conversation that had just taken place, and after a dull nod from the strange, speaking-in-short-clipped-phrases man behind the counter, Bob stuck it . . . in his ear. Since he was expecting a comfortable fit, it came as quite a shock when the earpiece bit him, and he let out a yelp.
"Stings don't it," the man said.
"Yeah, it stings," Bob said as he reached for his now stinging and burning ear.
"Don't take it out," the man said, "will make your head explode."
"What?" Bob asked, but then he heard a soft tone in his right ear.
"Hello and welcome to Redtooth. My name is Carol Ann, and I'll be assisting you today."
"What?" Bob asked, confused by Carol Ann's soothing yet slightly condescending tone.
"I'm sorry. Please hold," Carol Ann said, making it sound almost like a sincere apology.
"Working?" the man behind the counter asked as he smiled and nodded, as if he expected Bob to be thrilled with his new headset. "Good," he said in response to Bob's mute stare.
"Thank you for holding, Mr. Charvesky. This is Carol Ann and I'll be assisting you today."
"I'm sorry," Bob responded as nicely as he could. "I haven't purchased anything, I don't have a contract or a plan; I just want this thing out of my ear. And my name is not Mr. Charvesky, its Bob Hanks."
"Yes, sir, Mr. Charvesky, I'll make a note of that in your account."
"It's Bob Hanks."
"Yes sir, Mr. Charvesky, I'll make a note of it."
Bob let it go. "How do I get this thing out of my ear?" he asked. The man behind the counter just grinned.
"Did your sales representative tell you about the exploding feature of your new Redtooth device?" Carol Ann asked.
"Feature?"
"Yes, sir, Mr. Charvesky, your new Redtooth device is enabled with cutting-edge explosive removal technology. With just the press of a button here at Redtooth headquarters, we can remove the Redtooth headset from your ear."
"Along with my ear and most of my head."
"Quite possibly, Mr. Charvesky, yes," Carol Ann said, seemingly unconcerned about the effect that might have on his wellbeing. "This feature is quite new. If you have any problems with this feature that cause you to experience a loss of service, we will happily provide a free replacement headset and thirty days free Redtooth service."
"Thanks a lot."
"You're welcome, Mr. Charvesky. Please hold."
Bob put his hand to his forehead and tried to make sense of what was happening to him.
"Never have to charge it," said the man behind the counter. "Runs on blood. Works good."
"Why have you done this to me?" Bob asked.
The man just grinned and offered him a pistol, "Here. You need this."
"I certainly do not need a gun," Bob said. Then he grabbed what was left of his Bluetooth headset and backed toward the door.
The man shrugged and watched Bob retreat. Then he smiled and waved, "Have a nice day."
Bob's heart raced as he scanned the area, looking for the stern-faced man or the driver of the other car. Both cars remained where he'd last seen them, but they appeared to be empty and no one was in sight. His hands trembling, he fumbled with the keys and had trouble unlocking the door, but no one attacked. Still, adrenaline surged through him; he made a hasty left-turn out of the pawnshop and accelerated to fifty-four in a fifty. "To hell with the law at a time like this," he thought to himself. The smell of beans billowed from his tailpipe. All Bob wanted at that moment was to get to a hospital and have the infernal earpiece carefully and skillfully removed.
Taking advantage of the silence, he tried to remember how to get to the hospital but found himself confused and disoriented. "Perhaps it's the fact that I have a vampire for a headset," he thought, but then he had to watch the road as the stern-faced man reappeared in his rearview mirror and was growing larger by the second.
"Turn left in three-hundred meters," Carol Ann said without preamble.
"I'm going to the hospital. They'll remove you from my ear, and then I won't have to listen to you any more." Bob replied, while trying unsuccessfully to do metric-to-imperial conversion in his head.
"You don't want to do that," Carol Ann said in a serious tone. "There is a stiff penalty for premature termination."
Bob had no time to ask what that penalty was, as the stern-faced man swerved into the left lane and roared up alongside. He cast Bob an implacable look and pointed to the side of the road. Then with a roar of his engine, he pulled in front and began to slow down.
"Turn left in 150 meters," Carol Ann said.
"I'm being pulled over."
"Don't pull over, Mr. Charvesky. That man is a KGB agent who thinks you're a German spy, but don't worry, I'm here to help."
"So what exactly do you suggest I do?" Bob asked, somehow knowing it would do no good to ask why anyone, let alone the KGB, would think he was either German or a spy.
"First, Mr. Charvesky, I'm going to need you to shoot out his tires."
"I don't have a gun," Bob said.
"You're supposed to have a gun."
"Well I don't have one."
"You're not very well prepared, Mr. Charvesky, but I'll see what I can do to help you. Do you have a knife or anything you could stick his tires with?"
"Um . . . no."
"Any explosives or anything you could throw at him?"
"I don't have any explosives. All I have are some Tic-Tacs," Bob said, convinced he was losing his mind.
"Spearmint?" Carol Ann asked, sounding almost hopeful.
"Peppermint."
Carol Ann made an annoyed sound, "Please hold."
Bob began to hope for insanity, as that would at least mean none of this was real.
"Have you ever watched the show: COPS?" Carol Ann asked.
"Uh, yeah."
"Do that thing where you hit his bumper and make him spin out."
"The PIT maneuver?" Bob asked.
"Yes. That's it. Do that."
"I'm in a modified Renault Le Car that's running on vegetable oil."
"Perhaps it's time for an upgrade, Mr. Charvesky. Please hold."
As Bob watched the needle of his speedometer drop, fear crept along his spine. What if the stern-faced man really was a KGB agent? What if Carol Ann was right? In that moment, Bob made up his mind, and, screaming like a ten-year-old girl, slammed his foot down on the accelerator. After a sputter and several lurches, the Renault roared to life. With a yank of the wheel, Bob slammed into the stern-faced man's bumper. Nothing happened. Bob wasn't even certain the stern-faced man noticed. Determined, he veered right then hard back to the left. To his surprise and the stern-faced man's dismay, it worked. The other car spun as if in slow motion and blew a front tire when it struck the curb.
"You see, Mr. Charvesky, I knew you could do it."
"I did! Didn't I?"
"Yes, you did."
Bob felt a thrill run through him that was undampened by the fact that his car had developed a nagging and seemingly random squeak. "Now what do I do," he asked, suddenly grinning and imagining himself as a secret agent. It seemed as good a delusion as any.
"Turn left in one meter."
"Uh."
"You missed your turn."
"Uh, yeah. Should I make a U-turn?"
"Please hold."
At a four-way stop, Bob looked both ways and decided to go straight, seeing a circular drive ahead where he could execute a nice wide U-Turn. Tight turns in the Renault were often accompanied by a disturbing grinding noise, and Bob did his best to avoid them.
In the silence, Bob realized that he actually missed Carol Ann's voice in his ear. This ensured him that he was insane. After executing his turn, he returned to the four-way stop with a sense of trepidation. The stern-faced man approached from the other direction, his car riding low on the miniature spare tire. Cars also approached from the right and left, and it looked as if they would all arrive at the intersection at the exact same time. The Renault's steering wheel vibrated and pulled to the left as Bob pumped the brakes, and the engine sounded as if it might stall.
"Thank you for holding, Mr. Charvesky. Please make a U-Turn."
"I already did that, and now I'm at a four-way stop with the KGB agent," Bob said, and then he recognized the driver of the car on his left. "And the man from Chin's pawnshop is to my left. And I think the car to my right is the other car from the pawnshop. What do I do?"
"The car to your right has the right-of-way at a four-way stop, Mr. Charvesky. Turn left when it is your turn."
Bob didn't bother to respond; he was frozen in place as the stern-faced man got out of his car. The thick-fingered man got out next and faced the stern-faced man, his hand in his coat pocket at all times. Then the third man climbed from his car. He was a slimy little man with a perfect smile, which gave him a decidedly creepy appearance.
"They're getting out of their cars," Bob said, somehow hoping Carol Ann would know what to do.
"I'm here to help," she said. "Just get out of your car and try to look menacing. The man to your right is a German spy who thinks you're a CIA double-agent."
"What about the thick-fingered man from the pawnshop? Who does he think I am?"
"He's pretty firmly convinced that you're an idiot."
"Oh," Bob said; then, doing his best John Wayne impression, he climbed from the car and stood to face the other men. No one spoke, and the tension grew.
"What do I do?" Bob asked under his breath, as panic gripped him.
"One moment, Mr. Charvesky."
"Don't put me on hold again," Bob begged. "Now is not a good time."
"OK. This is the best I can do on short notice. Repeat after me." Carol Ann began to speak in German, and Bob did his best to sound imposing and repeated the words as she spoke them. All three men looked at him strangely and each took at least one step backward. "What did I just say?" he asked in a whisper.
"One moment."
"I must have said something by the looks on their faces. What did I say?"
"I'm not exactly certain, Mr. Charvesky. My German is a little rusty and you were pressuring me. I don't work well under pressure. If you'll just take a deep breath and remain calm, I'll translate it with Babel Fish. One moment."
Bob winced, just waiting for her to put him on hold again. The effect of his initial statement was wearing off, and it seemed the only thing keeping any of the men from attacking was distrust of the others.
"This can't be right," Carol Ann said. "I'm sorry, Mr. Charvesky, I learned German by reading German translations of Turkish romance novels, and I think I may have made a mistake."
"What did I say?" Bob asked in a low voice that was almost a growl.
"You said: 'I love you all, and I would like to cuddle, but I have a nuclear device in my ear.'"
"Nuclear?"
"I apologize, Mr. Charvesky, I've always had a flare for the dramatic, and it seemed a bit of subterfuge was called for, but I'm afraid your reaction has spoiled the effect. I am a bit surprised that you had no problem with the love and cuddling part. To each his own I suppose. Please hold."
A haze drifted over Bob's vision; swaying, he took an awkward step backward. The three men moved toward him, and the sight of a shiny, blood-red helicopter landing on the roadway made him question his senses. From the chopper emerged a slender woman in a red pantsuit. Her short, dark hair curved inward, creating a neat awning over thick-rimmed glasses.
Bob thought he was hallucinating when Chin emerged next, followed by Sheila, and both of them were grinning like fools. He stumbled as the world began to swim.
"He's gonna pop," the thick-fingered man said as he stepped forward to catch Bob. Languishing in the man's meaty grip, Bob tried to regain his composure.
"It's nice to meet you Mr. Charvesky; or should I say Mr. Hanks."
Bob nodded--sort of.
"You'll be fine in a moment. You seem to have had a sudden drop in blood pressure. Take a deep breath and you'll be fine."
Bob pushed himself upright and squinted, "Will someone please tell me what's going on?"
"Congratulations Mr. Hanks. You've won free lifetime service with Redtooth for participating in our beta test. You have Mr. Chin and your wife to thank for volunteering you."
Bob tried to imagine how he could ever repay them. The thought made his head throb, and a thunderous snick was followed by the sensation of cool air on his newly exposed ear canal. The tiny Redtooth headset dropped to the pavement with a dull click. Bob winced, half-expecting it to explode, but it just sat there silently mocking him.
"Unfortunately, your Redtooth headset has rejected you. It's nothing personal, I assure you."
Bob just continued to stare at the Redtooth headset, unsure if he should be relieved or offended.
Carol Ann bent down and retrieved the headset with a gleaming pair of long, slender tweezers; she used great care when inserting it into a clear sleeve. "You didn't really think it was a nuclear bomb, did you?" she asked.
Bob looked up. "Uh, I don't know. Maybe?"
Carol Ann just shook her head.
"Idiot," the thick-fingered man said.
For Bob, it felt like an appropriate ending to a surreal day. He watched the cars drive away, and the sight of the blood-red helicopter disappearing into the clouds mesmerized him. Suddenly it seemed as if none of them had ever existed, yet Carol Ann's voice echoed in his mind: "Please hold…" Closing his eyes, he let Sheila drive him home, and he didn't complain when she sent him straight to bed. Hours later, as he tried to convince himself that his world had returned to normal, he noticed something in Sheila's ear: A dull, red glow throbbed like a beating heart.
For more from this author, visit http://brianrathbone.com