THE UNKNOWN PLOT
By Jo
PART SIX: Something To Eat
Terry didn't even bother to answer Himself's question. He went straight into the restaurant,
sat down at the first table, and announced hoarsely, "I need a Pittsburgh sandwich."
A wide man, wearing an apron with dark, foreboding smears across it, came up to him. "You
want the Dead Man's Delight or the Heart Attack Hoagie?"
"Both. I want them both."
Bejay moaned, only kept to her feet by the support of friendly female castfellows.
"Terry...?" Himself said, sliding into a seat across from the K & R agent. "You don't...."
"You gonna offer me a smoke?"
"I can't do that. You know I can't. Not any more."
Terry turned his head away from Himself, calling after the man with whom he'd placed his
order. "Hurry that along, will ya!"
Bud had sat with Marie in a booth. "Just some fries, please," he said, staring worriedly
over at Terry.
"You got it, Officer," the young blonde waitress said. "You want that with sweet 'n sour
sauce or pickle relish?"
He looked up at her, rubbing a hand absently across his forehead. He'd hoped by now the
word printed there would have faded over the last half century. "It's just fries, Miss. Catsup
will do."
She stared at him a moment. The man was obviously not from Pittsburgh.
As Bud waited for his fries, he watched as Terry's sandwiches were brought out in a cast iron
wheelbarrow then rolled up a ramp to his tabletop. Terry's hand reached eagerly for the first
one but was stopped by the firm grip of the restaurant owner. "Hold on there, mister. You got
to sign the waiver first. Can't have your heirs pressin' charges, ya know."
Terry quickly signed then used his napkin to wipe away the stream of Bejay's tears that were
crossing the tabletop. He was neat like that.
Bud shook his head, glad he'd simply ordered fries. Soon his waitress was back with a plate,
which she set down in front of him. "One order of fries," she smiled.
Bud looked at the plate. Upon it lay a large mound of something, something that was a burnt
yellow color but smelled vaguely familiar.
"What's that?" he asked, cocking one eyebrow.
"You ordered fries, fries you got."
"Doesn't look like fries to me."
"Just how you expect fries to look, mister?"
"Like...like....not like THAT! What the f..k IS that?"
"Them there's Pittsburgh fries."
"Don't see any potatoes," he frowned, poking at the stuff on his plate with his fork.
"Potatoes? You never said nothin' about potatoes. You asked for fries."
"Yeah, fried potatoes."
She shook her head again. "You wanted potatoes, mister, you shoulda asked for potatoes.
This here is mustard crispies."
Bud studied his plate then looked up at the young waitress. "Wha...," he cleared his throat,
"what are mustard crispies?"
"You know, that hard brown stuff that forms at the spout of a mustard squeeze bottle. Chef
here picks it off the sandwiches with his little fingernail, saves it up. We get enough, we roll
it in brown sugar, oregano, and bread crumbs then fry it up in hog fat. Fries. You asked for
fries, you got fries."
At another table, Bridgid was warily studying the menu. Jack, she was glad to note, was so
thoroughly engaged in watching Terry eat that he seemed to have no interest in eating himself.
"I'll, um, have a gummi bear," she said quietly.
"How you want that?" a tall, skinny waiter asked.
"How...? Um, medium. Yes, I'll have it medium."
"You want the chef to remove the bones first? Tend to get themselves embedded in the walls of
the ol' esophagus, them gummi bones do."
When the waiter had gone, an old man, his grey beard wrapped around his neck four or five
times, got up from his seat near the spittoon and came, leaning over her table. "You ain't
really gonna eat no gummi, are you?"
"I, um, thought I might eat, um, just the one."
"You don't wanna do that, miss. Ain't fittin'."
"What's not, um, fittin' about eating a gummi?"
"Ain't you never heard how them little gummies are rounded up, led off to the gummatoir
under the 10 Street Bypass where, well, I cain't rightly tell no lady what happens to 'em there."
Bridgid, who loved all animals, especially sea captains, had to know more. "Gummatoir?"
she asked almost breathlessly, imagined horrors dashing in to her brain. "Tell me."
The old man pulled the spittoon closer and sat down atop it, a massively somber look on his
weathered face. "I know cuz I was once a gummi wrangler." He looked piercingly into Bridgid's
aqua eyes. "You ever seen how a gummi's taken down?" When she admitted she had not, he
continued. "Not a purty sight. Nothin' purty 'bout it at all." His nostrils flared, revealing long
curly grey nose hairs. "They use pins, you know." He closed his eyes...remembering the first
gummi he'd seen taken down, the way its four friends gathered around, chanting mournful
gummi death songs.
"Then the boss told me to take down the next one. Blame thing just wouldn't die." He cast a
mysterious glance in the General's direction. "Took pin after pin after pin to finish 'im off."
"Made me feel real bad, it did, but I hadda earn a livin'. You got to understand I hadda earn
a livin'!" He wiped a tear off his cheek, looking at Aubrey to see if he were paying attention,
but the good captain was fascinated by the tank of oxygen that was being rolled up to Terry's
table.
"Them gummies were dwindlin' down so much they was worried 'bout total gummicide an'
they had ever' right to be. Ever' right. Gummies was droppin' ever' place...
...'an one day when a fine green gummi got hisself done in, several of 'em gathered 'round the
spot where ol' Gershwin had laid...
...'an they took a vow that no more gummies would die to fill the cravings for sweets of the
humanoid population of Pittsburgh.
They started talkin' 'mongst theirselfs, sometimes in small groups, sometimes bigger...
Then one day a leader rose up...
'an guided 'em all right outta the gummi bowl.
And so began the last great trek of the gummies. Kinda stirs the heart, don't it?
It warn't no easy thing, neither. You shoulda seed how them gummies worked together to
escape the gummatoir. Brave little things. Mighty brave.
Gladigummus, the gummi general, divided the surviving gummies into groups, sent them
out on reconnaissance missions...
...taught them how to survive
...made sure they knew the glorious history of the gummi planet of their foregummies...
...and how they'd managed to ensure the survival of their species by leaping into the whirling
vortex..."
Bridgid's brows both went up. "I saw the vortex earlier today!" she exclaimed.
"It...it's still there?" the old man asked, astonished. Looking back toward the kitchen door
he sighed, "Perhaps there is yet hope for gummikind."
"But, tell me!" Bridgid insisted. "What happened to the gummi trek?"
He sighed deeply. "For a while they thought they was safe. Spent their days gazin' out at the
quiet lake...
...but it wasn't to be. Not for them. Not for gummikind.
They...they was tracked down...bisected...
...strung into gummi necklaces. It was...horrible. Just horrible.
Gladigummus told them to stay together, that then they might survive...
They fought nobly...but many were wounded...
...and there weren't nearly enough doctors and nurses to tend them.
The final blow came when the gummi worms turned on them..."
Bridgid was horrified. She'd heard of worms turning.
"How," she gasped, "how were...any...of them saved?"
"It were the squirrels, miss, done saved the gummies. Come right down out'n their trees, they
did, and ate up all the turned worms."
Bridgid looked quickly over to where Joimus was petting little cauliflower sheep, wondering
if she knew of the vital connection between Pittsburgh's squirrels and its gummi bears.
She decided, though, they'd know soon enough...maybe. When the waitress brought her a
dessert plate with a single gummi, she stared down at it, utterly stricken.
"You think you gonna be able ta sink your teeth inta that there little gummi?" the old man
asked.
"I...I...," she stammered, tears filling her aqua eyes. "I...."
"Oh, look!" Jack grinned, quickly picking the gummi up and popping it into his mouth.
"JACK!" Bridgid moaned. "How COULD you?"
"How could I what, siren?"
"How could you...you...eat...eat...?"
"The jellied weevil?" He swallowed happily, but then was distracted by the arrival of the
paramedics at Terry's table.
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