Brady Carmichael and the Poodle of Mass Destruction - The Kachina Shaman Read online

  Brady Carmichael

  and the

  Poodle of Mass Destruction

  In

  The Kachina Shaman

  SMASHWORDS EDITION

  * * * * *

  PUBLISHED BY:

  David Carnes on Smashwords

  Written by David Carnes

  Illustrations by Christopher Park

  Cover Design by Nicholas J. Longtin

  Copyright © 2013 by David Carnes and Christopher Park

  Thank you for downloading this free eBook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form, with the exception of quotes used in reviews.

  Your support and respect for the property of the author and illustrator is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  * * * * *

  The phone rang, and it wasn’t the regular phone. It was the red one.

  A teenage boy wearing dark pants, a buttoned-up white shirt with a skinny tie and a pressed black lab coat answered the phone. He pushed back his horn-rimmed glasses and set down an old-fashioned clothes iron. It hissed loudly, releasing a puff of steam that smelled like clean laundry, burnt circuits, and wet dog.

  “Carmichael here,” said Brady Carmichael as he picked up the red phone. “Uh huh. Slow down, Mr. President. OK, OK. Really? Sure we can handle it. Sorry, the usual fees apply. Nope, no more patriot discounts. Deficit, schmecifit – we gotta eat.”

  “Alrighty then, agreed?” Brady paused, waiting for an answer. “Good. Give us forty minutes.”

  He clicked off the phone and shouted, “Yo Fifi! We got a job...”

  --

  Fifi took the headphone bud out of her ear. She thought she had heard Brady say they had a job, but she wasn’t sure.

  She paused the Jessie J. track she had been listening to and delicately stepped off her yoga mat, avoiding a patched and battered boxing bag that was still swinging in the air, creaking softly.

  Her painted purple claws clicked on the hardwood floor as she trotted over to the top of an iron spiral staircase. In her high pitched, barky-growly voice she called down, “Brady, you talking to me?”

  “Yeah Feef, we’ve got a job. Just got a call from the President himself.” Brady yelled to her, craning his neck to look up the winding stairs.

  “Ooo did you ask about Bo? How’s he doing?” Fifi shouted down.

  “No I didn’t ask about the President’s dog.” Replied Brady, “I didn’t think you liked Portuguese Water Spaniels. Did something change?”

  Fifi had been having a hard time in the love department. Her current infatuation was with celebrity dogs. Other dogs might not be able to talk like she could, but her doggie boyfriend should at least be unique. She was, after all, a one-of-a-kind poodle. She had genuine alien-modified DNA that gave her the strength of one hundred saint bernards and the smarts of ten Einsteins. She felt that it would be right and proper to also have a one-of-a-kind doggie boyfriend.

  Bo might be a Portuguese water spaniel, thought Fifi, but he is the president’s dog and his butt smells delightful.

  “Maybe we could see him when we’re done with this mission?” she asked as she zipped down the stairs.

  “It’s a deal, Feef, but we’ve got to roll, OK?”

  “Good, let’s suit up,” growled Fifi, “I’ve got a date with the first dog and I don’t want to be late….”

  --

  Together Brady and Fifi headed down to the secret complex hidden under their house.

  They stepped off the elevator and were blasted by the smell of jet fuel, hot electronics, and Burma for Him aftershave.

  Fifi and Brady walked purposefully into the big lab next to the hangar where they kept their gear, the majority of their testing equipment, their collection of ships, planes, souped-up cars and Grampa.

  Actually, Gramps spent most of his time there by choice. He was always tinkering with the equipment and coming up with new gadgets. Brady definitely got his engineering genius from Grampa’s side of the family. It didn’t hurt that Brady’s DNA was also modified during the same strange event that changed Fifi – but that’s another story.

  “Headin’ out Gramps. Got a call from Barack. It’s a recovery gig,” Brady said as they saw Gramps leaning over a workbench, up to his elbows in a tangled nest of wires and circuit boards.

  “Sounds good Brady. Wait - before you go,” Gramps waggled his bushy caterpillar eyebrows at Brady. “I’ve got something for you.”

  “New toys, Gramps?” Fifi asked in an excited tone.

  “Yep, something special for each of you. Follow me.” Gramps walked over to the wall, punched a combination into a keypad, and held up his palm for a hand scanner.

  A polite sounding woman’s voice issued from the speaker, “User identified, access granted.” Drawer handles popped up along the surface of the wall, making a satisfying “chi-kung” noise. The old man pulled the drawer open and reached into the dark compartment.

  “Here, try this on...” Gramps held out a shiny silver chain with a black and silver medallion swinging from the end of the loop.

  Brady took it from him with a smile, “Oh Gramps, you’ve fixed the PODS! Awesome, thanks. I’ve been meaning to get to this. Last week was so busy with school and work. I had that term paper to write for humanities and then there was the tsunami in Indonesia we had to stop…”

  “Yes I did, and you’re welcome,” interrupted Gramps. “And this time they’re waterproof.”

  Brady slipped the chain around his head, “I’ve always liked these little guys,” he said and he pressed a button on the silvery back side of the pendant. Eight tiny white lights began glowing on the black front of the medallion. The light ebbed and flowed as if keeping time with an invisible drum beat. “Looks like they’re syncing up.”

  PODS stands for Personal Orbital Defense System. It was a project Brady and Gramps had been working on for quite some time. Though Brady and Fifi were both amazingly fast and strong, they could still get hurt like anyone else. They had tried heavy armor suits - Ironman was one of Brady’s favorite superheroes - but Fifi didn’t like them because she said full armor messed up her hair and was “stupid looking” on a dog.

  The light’s pulsing rhythm slowed and a red dot appeared in the middle of the pendant. It began to glow faintly in time with the others.

  “Looks like it’s warmed up,” Brady said, “Does it still respond to the same voice and hand commands?”

  Gramps nodded.

  “Try it out Brady.” Gramps told him, “I’d still suit up as usual, but these will be a nice addition to your toolbox.”

  In a clear voice Brady said the command word, “Shazam!” while at the same time opening his hands so all ten fingers were splayed out.

  There was a series of tiny clicks and as if by magic, the lights floated out of the pendant and began circling Brady. They orbited around him like tiny stars. Spinning and buzzing, they went faster and faster until it seemed like there were eight beams of pulsing light circling Brady’s body.

  “OK, here’s the fun part,” said Brady smiling, “Throw something at me, Feef.”

  Fifi looked around, found what she was looking for, and launched an old, marble patterned black and yellow bowling ball that had been sitting next to one of the workbenches. With her s
trength and agility, this was actually a pretty serious attack. It flew directly at Brady’s chest.

  Brady punched at the oncoming ball and the PODS responded. Following his hand gesture, the pulsing beams of light flew from their orbits to intercept the heavy ball.

  As the PODS met the bowling ball they took up orbit around it. Their gentle humming paths seemed to suspend the law of gravity as they first slowed then stopped the black and yellow orb in mid flight. It floated motionless, like a sun surrounded by eight speedy little white planets.

  Brady looked over at Fifi and winked at her. Then he closed his hands making two fists. There was a sound like a knife cutting a ripe apple and sixteen perfectly sliced sections of bowling ball fell to the ground.

  With what sounded like a satisfied hum, the PODS circled back and resumed their orbit around Brady.

  “Not bad, not bad at all Gramps. Of course Fifi would have to throw the bowling ball at me. You couldn’t have thrown a golf ball or something?”

  Fifi grinned and wagged her tail innocently.

  Gramps shook his head, “You guys know you shouldn’t be doing that sort of stuff in here, you’ve got to run tests in the sealed test lab down the hall. That’s what I meant when I said to try it out. Remember the last time you were goofing around in here and you let those nanobots out? They could’ve eaten half of North America. Someone will get hurt and it will probably be me. Plus I kind of liked that bowling ball.”

  Brady and Fifi both mumbled apologies. Brady added, “We’ll get you a new bowling ball Gramps. We promise.”

  Fifi quickly whispered to Brady, “Remember that? Letting those nanobots out was awesome! They ate your shoes, oh and the pizza guy’s car. That was hilarious."

  Then seeing Grampa frowning at her, Fifi tried to change the subject and asked, “What about me Gramps? Got anything good for me?”

  “Of course I do, my dear.” He replied and smiled. “You’ll like this. You remember that tooth you chipped when you were fighting the giant robot from Antares Prime?”

  “You mean dis one?” Fifi asked in a muffled tone as she opened her mouth wide and let her tongue roll out to one side.

  “Yep that’s the one. I made a cast for you and I have a replacement, but it’s not like your other teeth,” Gramps said as he reached into another grey drawer and held up a small, shiny, white dog tooth. “If you press on it with your tongue and bite down hard, it will light up, giving you a smile so dazzling your opponent will be momentarily blinded.”

  “Hmmm, danks Gwamps.” Fifi said as Gramps snapped the tooth into place.

  “It has an adhesive that will set in about 30 seconds. Here you go my girl. Enjoy your new, extra dazzling smile.” Gramps scratched her the way she liked just behind her left ear.

  Fifi let Gramps scratch her ear long enough for the tooth to set in place, plus a little extra. Then Brady and Fifi left the workshop area through a double garage door opening into the main body of the hanger.

  It was by far the biggest room in their underground complex. Fifi had tried to call it the poodle-cave. But Brady argued with her that she was ripping off Batman and on basic principle he would refuse to hang out in a poodle-cave or ride around in a poodle-mobile. So after a long argument they took Gramps’ advice and agreed to call it the “hangar” and to give each of their vehicles a number rather than a name.

  They had twenty-three numbered vehicles in all. Transports ranging from a radar-evading, deep-sea, stealth submarine, Number Four, to a fancy hi-tech jet helicopter with a shimmering blue force field, Number Six. They even had a massive bright pink Hummer with spinning wheels and hidden missile turrets (that was the one Fifi wanted to call the poodle-mobile) Number Two.

  Brady had to admit he had not outgrown thinking it was funny to say in a British accent, ‘Ms. Fifi would you like to take Number Two?’ She would giggle and respond in high old lady voice, “Let’s go number twoooo.” And they would both laugh.

  Brady selected Number Eight for their trip, one of their fastest and most flexible air transports. It was sleek and looked like a shiny metallic egg. It could quickly fly in any direction or just hover. It was completely silent and could use virtually anything for fuel. One time they were running low on fuel during a mission in China and they made it home by giving it some pork fried rice. That did, however, make it smell funny for about a week.

  Brady and Fifi spoke the access code together. The egg cracked open and a short row of steps unfolded. They climbed aboard and soon were strapped in, going through the well-rehearsed routine of pre-launch checks and course setting.

  Silently the ship rose up and into the launch tube maze built into the walls and ceiling of the hangar. It’s launch programming was set to take them through a hidden network of tunnels they had dug deep underground. They routinely changed how they came and went from their secret complex and had over fifty different hidden exits and entrances throughout the city.

  The ship rose in full stealth mode, silently and invisibly, from a spot hidden behind a dumpster at a McDonald’s about a mile from their house. Fifi growl-sang, “Da, da, da, da, daaaa. I’m lovin’ it,” under her breath as they swept past and over the golden arches.

  “Mr. Carmichael and Ms. Fifi,” the feminine voice of the computer began its briefing, “Mission touch down will occur in twelve minutes. Here is the relevant background data.”

  “The President has tasked you with finding a stolen Kachina doll. Kachina dolls are Native American talismans that represent forces from both the natural and spiritual worlds. This particular stolen doll is an ancient artifact, roughly six inches tall, by two and a half inches at its widest point. It is colorfully painted using indigo, red cedar, animal bone, and mushroom dyes. Chemical analysis indicates…”

  “Pause computer,” Brady looked at Fifi and rolled his eyes. She smirked back at him.

  “Don’t look at me, you programmed her,” Fifi replied.

  “Computer, please show us a picture.”

  A picture of the stolen Kachina doll appeared in the display. Brady and Fifi examined the colorful doll with its widely spaced dark eyes, open mouth and inset bone teeth.

  “It’s kind of creepy looking,” Fifi said. She squinted at the doll and reached up with a paw to rotate it on the touch screen and see it from various angles.

  “Any suspects at this time, computer?” Brady asked.

  “No, Mr. Carmichael,” Came the mechanical reply.

  “OK, well, please load all relevant data into our comlinks in case we lose communication.” Brady added, “Any other details we should know?”

  The computer continued, “The doll that was taken represents the spirit of fire, known as Hectapay. This doll is thought to be one of the most powerful protector spirits of the Kanee tribe. It is rumored that a shaman possessing the doll will have the ability to summon Hectapay and control the spirit of fire.”

  “Great.” said Fifi, “I hate these missions with ghosts and spirits. Give me aliens, robots, or insane computers any day of the week. The supernatural stuff always freaks me out. Remember that time when the witch doctor made voodoo dolls of you and me and we both had that terrible rash for three weeks?”

  Brady laughed, “Oh yeah, I remember. That’s why we make the big money I guess. Let’s get set to land, I have a feeling we’re gonna have to earn it on this one.”

  --

  They touched down just outside of the Southwestern Native American Museum, near the city of Santa Fe, New Mexico.

  Brady and Fifi stepped out of the ship and walked over to meet the museum director. He was a skinny man, wearing a maroon vest, khaki pants, plaid shirt and sensible brown shoes. He smelled slightly of Vicks mentholated rub.

  “Oh thank God you’re here,” he said in a nasal, high-pitched voice.

  “Of course,” said Brady.

  “Hmmm, you’re younger than I thought you’d be. Ah well, one can’t argue with results, can one? Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Carmichael.” He looked down his long
thin nose, “This must be the famous Fifi. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is George Girard. I am the director of the museum.”

  The skinny man continued, “This is no ordinary theft. When the Kachina was stolen, our guards were murdered. They were killed in horrible ways.

  “One guard was found with over fifty rattlesnake bites, the other with hundreds of scorpion stings.”

  The museum director went on. “The police are inside, and no one has touched anything. I understand that you prefer not have anything disturbed as you investigate a crime scene. The Hectapay Kachina really is the jewel of our collection. It is over 5,000 years old.”

  “Thanks George!” Fifi said, “Show us the bodies, we’ll take it from here.”

  George stood there shocked, staring at Fifi.

  Brady looked at him and said, “Yep, she talks.” He paused for dramatic effect. “A lot.”

  For the next several hours Brady and Fifi went to work, exhaustively searching through the museum, interviewing the police and other museum staff.

  They ran a detailed scan of the museum and its grounds. One of the nice things about Number Eight was its fast connection back to the main computer server farm at their headquarters. Brady instructed the computer to use all its resources to hack into the video camera feeds of the surrounding area.

  Brady and Fifi hunkered inside the small operations center nestled in the back cargo bay of Number Eight. With faces lit by the bluish glare of HD screens, they watched video footage the computer had assembled of the crime.

  Using Carmichael designed, and not strictly legal video hacking tools, they were able to assemble a series of short videos showing the suspect approaching the museum. It appeared to be a man, cloaked and hooded. His face was either painted or masked in a skull like pattern. They had especially chilling footage captured by passing satellite, which showed the hooded man approaching one of the guards as he was making his rounds just outside the museum.