Chapter 13

After forty-five minutesof traipsing through the woods on the outskirts of Assjacket, we were getting antsy. The escape tunnel the groundhogs had dug was long and zigzaggy. I was concerned if there was enough oxygen for Fucking Derrick, but the transmitter kept moving, which meant the troll was still alive.

"Dat was some shit about eatin' ten groundhogs," Jango said, huffing and puffing with the exertion of hiking.

"Our little man is psychotic," Boba said with a chuckle.

"True dat," I said, pushing branches out of the way so the dames didn't get whacked in the face.

Turned out, the gals were doing the same thing for us. My heart beat an erratic rhythm in my chest as I realized we all might be buried alive soon, and I'd never told Poutine how I felt. I was pretty sure she knew after all the gangoolie cleansing I did in her honor, but words were important to dames.

Clearing my throat, I took her paw in mine. It would have been better to stop and declare my intentions on bended knee, but we couldn't lose Fucking Derrick.

"Poutine?"

"Yes, Fat Bastard?" she replied with a little smirk on her stunningly beautiful, hairy mug.

"I know dat I'm not the greatest catch, but I want youse to know dat humpin' youse is my wildest dream come true. I will worship youse every day I have left in this life and I will worship youse in the Next Adventure. Youse are my dream cat and youse are perfect. I love how good youse are at cheatin' at cards and youse have got a mean right hook."

Poutine raised a bored brow and stayed silent as we trekked through the forest. My dame was digging it.

I needed to take this baby home. "And, umm… I just want youse to know dat I would die for youse and I love youse. I love youse to the moon and back. Forever."

"So smooth," Jango said. "Youse are the man, Fat Bastard." He clapped me on the back and turned to his dame. "Blythe, I would like to pilfer everything dat Fat Bastard just said except change the name to Blythe."

Blythe giggled and rolled her eyes.

"I'm gonna third dat motion and change the name to Annie Surely," Boba added, giving his lady a quick peck on the cheek.

Annie Surely yawned and pecked him back.

"So, in conclusion," I said, gaining confidence from Poutine's annoyed expression. "I would like to ask for your paw in marriage."

"Do you have a ring?" she inquired, her eyes twinkling with delight. "Because until you steal me a huge rock, you better keep those questions to yourself, wise guy."

"My bad," I said, grinning. "Weese will rectify dat tomorrow."

"Big," Poutine said. "Huge."

"Whatever youse want, youse will have," I promised then stopped dead in my tracks.

The GPS stopped moving. Was Fucking Derrick okay? Was he eating groundhogs?

"Get low," Poutine hissed. "I see the groundhogs."

We all dropped to our haunches and peeked through the bushes. They were all there—all six of them, and they still looked like diseased skunks. We'd done a real bang-up job on those groundhogs.

The distance between us and our goal was about a hundred yards away. Far away enough for us not to be detected, but not close enough to see exactly what they were up to. Moving nearer wasn't an option yet. Making our presence known was risky without a plan in place. Under other circumstances, I'd barrel right in and kick some ass, but the main objective was recovering Sturgill's dong pillow. Keeping our target in mind was the name of the deadly game.

"What's the plan?" Jango whispered. His fat body was tense and the hair on the back of his neck stood straight up.

"Figurin' it out," I told him, scanning the campground that the evil rodents had set up.

They had found a small clearing next to a stream. There were two makeshift tents and a pile of six sledgehammers. In the middle of the clearing was a pyramid of flat rocks with one large flat rock on top—an altar of sorts. They sat in a circle around the altar with their hands clasped in front of them and chattered animatedly.

"What the heck are they doin'?" Boba asked.

"Looks like they're at church," Annie Surely said. "Praying."

"Not church," Poutine hissed, her eyes narrowed and her claws out. "It's a ritual of some sort."

Blythe snapped her toe beans and produced six sets of binoculars. "Use these. We have no room for error."

"Wadda weese lookin' for?" Boba asked.

"Gangoolies," I whispered. "Sturgill's gangoolies. They're the keys to the magical Universe."

There was a moment of respectful silence as we slowly raised the binoculars to our eyes. I could feel it in my gut that we'd only have one chance to get it right. Doodle knockers were delicate things—even stone doodle knockers. Our attack had to be precise and calculated.

The end game was to retrieve the testicles.

Failure was not an option.

As much as I wanted to eighty-six Goober and his gang, that was a secondary plan of action.

"I see Goober," Poutine hissed. "The one who just stood up is cross-eyed."

"Holy shit," Jango said with a grunt of laughter. "How does dat dude see anythin' but his nose?"

Jango made a fine point. However, with the success that the dastardly groundhog had thus far, it was clear he could see just fine.

"I have a question," Boba said.

"Is it pertinent?" I asked.

"Definitely," he replied.

"Speak," I said tersely, wondering if we should poof into the groundhog camp and take them by surprise or circle the camp and run in from all sides.

"Where is Fuckin' Derrick?" Boba asked.

I froze. It was an outstanding question. Where was Fucking Derrick?

"Shit," I muttered, scanning the camp to locate the hole the hogs had come up through. There was a chance the hole wasn't in the camp at all and they'd crawled out then walked to where they'd set up. There was a chance that the troll was miles away by now… or he was dead in the hole.

Checking the GPS, my chest tightened. I'd only known Fucking Derrick for a few hours, but he'd weaseled his ugly mug into my heart quickly.

"No signal," I whispered. "The troll has stopped moving."

Again, there was silence. There were even a few tears.

"Fuckin' Derrick was a good man," Boba said, swiping at his eyes. "I loved him."

"Youse barely knew him," Jango pointed out.

"But I loved him," Boba insisted. "Dat shit-mouthed little mother f-er was the real deal. He shoved a piece of metal up his ass and died for the cause. Fuckin' Derrick is responsible for savin' the magical Universe."

"And don't forget he also had a stump in his ass," Annie Surely reminded everyone.

"How could I ever forget what dat little psycho asshole did for us," Boba went on eulogizing the troll. "Dat sweet little son of a bitch will never be forgotten. His ugly mug will live on."

I bowed my head in reverence for the troll. Boba was right. Not only had Fucking Derrick led us to the evil groundhogs, but he'd also answered the Goddess's cryptic question and revealed the testicular key to the entire puzzle.

"Fuckin' Derrick is a hero," I said. "His death will not be in vain."

Poutine nodded and sniffled. "We will find the stone nards and place them back on Sturgill in honor of Fucking Derrick. Maybe we should have a monument of Fucking Derrick placed on Main Street next to the half-headed bear."

"Dat's a beautiful idea," I said, smiling sadly at my gorgeous dame. "Youse have a heart as big as Sturgill's stone marbles. I love youse, Poutine."

"And I love you, Fat Bastard," she said with an eye roll.

As devastated as I was at Fucking Derrick's untimely demise, I was humbled by Poutine's love. I'd waited all my nine lives to feel like this. The irony was that tomorrow was on the line. Along with all of the magical Universe.

But if I was offed saving my people, I was going on to the Next Adventure knowing that I'd found true love… even if it had only lasted a moment.

"I see Sturgill's wrinkled grapes," Jango snarled, staring through the binoculars. "They're on top of dat alter."

"Oh my Goddess," Blythe said. "They're grabbing the sledgehammers. They're going to crush Sturgill's nuts."

"Not today they're not," Fucking Derrick said, bursting out of the ground by our feet with a mouth full of dirt.

"Youse ain't dead," Boba said, hugging the filthy little troll. "Youse is alive! And, umm… seriously in need of a bath."

Fucking Derrick grinned and adjusted his gauchos. "I heard everything you said about me. I love all of you so much I'm not sure I can contain it."

That was concerning. Fucking Derrick's purple eyes were dilated, and the tiny dude was breathing erratically. He looked like a tsunami about to blow.

"It's been an hour," Poutine said, checking her pilfered watch.

"What?" I asked, not following.

"An hour," she repeated. "Fucking Derrick wasn't due for another tantrum for an hour. The hour is up."

My brain clicked. My grin grew devious and wide. The timing was either perfect, or we were all about to bite it.

"Fuckin' Derrick," I said, grabbing the troll by the shoulders and looking him in the eye. "Youse need to suck dat shit up until I give youse the okay. Youse feel me?"

He was panting now and his expression was terrifying. He nodded spastically. "I can hold it for another few minutes and then it's going to rip."

"Dat's all weese need," I promised. "Poutine, youse and the gals will cause a diversion. Poof in on the far-left side of the camp and beat the shit out of each other."

"Roger that," she said, extending her claws and gathering her girls close. "Lots of blood, high pitched hissing and chunks of fur flying."

"Perfect," I said, all business. "Jango and Boba, weese will go right for the nards. Flank me and fend off the hogs."

"What am I going to do?" Fucking Derrick asked, ready to blow.

I grinned. "Youse are going to shoot the biggest fireballs out of your nose dat youse have ever shot… at us."

The troll started to cry. "But I love you. I don't want to eighty-six you."

Boba and Jango slapped each other high fives and laughed. We'd developed many skills over the years. One of them was to redirect the magic shot at us onto someone other than the one who had attacked. Of course, we'd never actually used it in battle, but today seemed like a good day to try it out.

If magic was destroyed, we were goners anyway. If we were going out, we may as well go out spectacularly.

"Youse ain't gonna kill us," I promised an on-edge Fucking Derrick. "But I want youse to get behind dat big rock on the right side of the camp when youse have your psychotic break. Youse feel me? Dat way if what weese do goes wonky, youse will survive it."

"I can do that," Fucking Derrick said, wiping his nose with his sleeve. "And I do love you."

"And weese love youse too," I said, shaking my head. "The goal is the balls. The rest is for fun. On three?"

"On three," Poutine said. "Let's save the magical Universe."