The Best Side: Part 6

“What?” I said. “You don’t like it?” In my hand was a flail made out of three headless Ken dolls joined by chains to a door handle from a ’88 Subaru.

“Stupid is the word that comes to mind,” she replied. “I’m going out the back door. Good luck with that” she made a gesture at the flail. “Thing.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” I said, swinging my flail in a little circle. It made a whistling noise that sounded exactly like a load of ape poop being flung out of a trebuchet.

The Dame ignored me and walked quickly towards the back door, her heels clicking on the tiled floor. She stepped over a reanimated chicken and in two more steps was at the door. “Y’know,” she said, pausing with her hand on the knob. “I really thought you could help. Sorry about the ninja thing.”

“No worries,” I said. I whacked my flail against the stainless steel counter. It made an amazingly satisfying thud and left three disturbingly Ken-shaped dents.

“You’re not going to stop me?”

“Nope.”

“Seriously?” She turned, hands on her hips. “You’re just going to let me walk out alone to face unknown peril by myself. And here I thought we had something.”

“Everytime we’ve met I ended up unconscious and/or shot. That’s not really a stable base for a relationship. Besides, we might meet again. I’m only 50% certain that door is trapped.”

“Trapped?”

“Yep.” I zipped up my fly, as I had previously forgotten to do so. “Like I said, we did that last time. If I were a ninja or a mime, I’d put a claymore or four on the next back door.”

The Dame glanced at the door, an eyebrow raised. “That does make a certain sense.”

“So today,” I said. “This nerd’s going out the front.”

“With a flail made out of Ken dolls.”

I grinned. “It’s all about the style.” I walked over to the door to the dining room, flail in my right hand, my left ready to push the door open. “You coming?” I asked, without turning around.

There was a clicking of heels and then the click of a hammer being pulled back. This was followed by the rapid clicking of one of those ball banging thingies people put on their desks, but that’s immaterial.

“On three?” the Dame asked, from close behind.

“How ‘bout one?” I said, as I pushed through the door and leapt into the room.

Next: Le Fin.