THE BIG SWITCH by Christopher Leeson Chapter 8 and 9
Posted 04-07-23
THE BIG SWITCH
By Christopher Leeson
Chapter 8
Narrative of D.D. Callahan, continued
A fourth alien seemed to be playing cabbie for the other three and he was in the body of one those down-and-out slum guys, the kind that these Martians seemed to use for general-purpose thugs. The Leigh-alien was up front alongside him, while "Callahan" and the coppertop had me pinned between the two of them. I was absolutely humiliated to be taking my last ride in the backseat of a Ford Taurus, but them's the breaks. At least the rush-hour traffic was making our progress slow.
Know thy enemy, I always say, and the best way to get into their head is to get them talking. "You guys are toast!" I sneered. "When the feds find out what you're up to, the president is going go at you goons like a terrorist nation." That was crap of course. I knew that the guy in the White House would probably send his crooked son meet to meet with them in Ukraine cut a lucrative deal. My last hope was that they hadn’t done their homework when it comes to presidential politics.
The two in the backseat only laughed. I wasn’t sure if they were laughing at Mr. Brandon or me.
I took off on a new tack. "You guys don’t seem to have any ethics? Who runs your operation, anyway? Fearless Leader?"
Red snorted. "Our guiding figures are the most brilliant minds in the galaxy. We call them the Committee."
That made me feel a lot better. If a committee was running this invasion, it didn't stand a chance.
"Are you aware that some of your world's most powerful leaders have already been replaced by our agents," she added.
“Since when?” I asked.
“Since FDR.”
Oh, him. Yeah, if he was an alien that would explain a lot of things about what went on back then.
“What about Randy Bill? That guy just had to be one of you.”
“He still is,” said the babe in mauve.
“Why is he still around? Why hasn’t the old wreck been switched out for a new model?”
“That wouldn’t work out for our long-term plans. We're keeping him shot up with vitamins and Big Pharma magic until he finishes what he was set up to do.”
I was depressed that I wouldn’t be able to watch Bill’s funeral on TV, but at least I could die happy knowing that I didn’t have to blame the American people for the Democrat Party.
It must have been my look of misery that had put a Satanic smile on the red-head’s love-bows. "Cheer up, Callahan. We don't actually intend to kill you -- not immediately. You'll just wish you were dead."
I scowled at her face – well, to be honest I was actually glimming her legs – and said, "Hey, don’t give me that! You told Schitz that you were going to kill her -- him."
The phony Callahan butted in. "There’s no need to kill her until an agent of ours need body for a new assignment. We just thought it was fun seeing how scared the twit could get."
"You guys have a great sense of humor, I can see that."
For some reason, my throwaway sarcasm started the whole pack of them yucking. Usually I like people who enjoy their work, but these hyenas had what it takes to get on my nerves.
Just then, I saw a glare between the buildings up ahead and it told me that we were closing in on the Potomac River. Were these strong-arm goons going to strangle me and dump my body -- Sheila's body -- after all? While I held my breath, the derelict banged a ralph into a small parking lot behind commercial building with plywood over its windows.
"End of the road, bimbo," the driver said to his rear-view mirror, but I got the idea that he was actually talking to me.
They held the door open, expecting me to get out. I was keyed up to make a break for it, but as soon as my spiked heels touched asphalt, it was all I could do to keep from falling on my prat. Maybe that was the reason they were making me wear those nutty things. I decided to making a show of being even worse off than I really was, hoping to put my escort off-guard. When the Callahan reached out to steady me, I kneed him in the crotch, kicked off those damned pumps, and started running like Seabiscuit on a dry track!
I was also yelling at the top of my lungs: "Help! Anybody! Murder!"
At at the moment I wasn't sure if murder was on the table, but if I'd yelled "sex change" who’d have given a hoot?
While bruising my feet while trying to run on that uneven pavement, I tossed a look-see over my shoulder. The aliens were gaining on me and Red was able to run faster than me while still wearing her own sexy heels. I guess a person can overcome even the worst of handicaps.
"Let go of that woman, you creeps!" someone hollered from nowhere. I thought the shout was coming from a dark alley ahead but, with the sun in my eyes, I couldn't see who it was.
"Look out!" I shouted. "They're dangerous! Shoot them, officers! Shoot!"
It was a tin-plated bluff, but was keying off Schitz’s story of these same bad guys mading like rabbits just because a squad car had shown up while they were manhandling her. My ploy really worked on these four jerks, because they got off my case and hotfooted it back to their lousy Taurus. It took their derelict driver only five seconds to gun that tin can of theirs back into the traffic flow. I breathed a sigh of relief; if these mugs were dumb enough to be afraid of the alumni of January 6th, maybe they weren’t as smart as they thought they were.
Anyway, I’d been saved, but by whom?
My stentorian rescuer was already sprinting out of the shadows. To my surprise, the guy really was packing heat and I could hardly believe that the cavalry had turned out to be my own partner, Martin Dewitt!
He braked his rubber heels right in front of me. "Are you all right, Miss -- ?"
Miss?
Oh, of course! Martin wouldn't know me from Adam. I mean, he wouldn't know me from Sheila. My head was spinning. What could I say? The way I’d been swapped out wasn't anything to brag about, not even to my best friend. If he knew that I'd suddenly turned into a girl, how could he respect me? No, I had to pretend to be Sheila until I could catch up with that body thief and force him to return the merchandise.
"Sheila!" Martin exclaimed.
"Thank God you showed up, Dewitt!" I babbled. "You saved my neck! They were going to make me look like one I was one of those murdered hookers." I let it go at that; I wasn't exactly sure what, precisely, they had had on their deranged minds.
He gave me the up and down, like any decent, red-blooded American boy would – at least any red-blooded decent American boy who hadn’t been turned into a wimp by attending an Ivy League college. "That explains that wild dress, but what's the deal? Just before those guys ducked into that dumb-looking car, I thought I saw that two of them were Leigh Spielman and Callahan!"
I shook my head -- Sheila's head -- wildly. "No, Martin, you've got it all wrong! They weren’t the good guys. What Schitz told us is true. Those were aliens! They got the drop on...on D.C., Spielman, and me! The aliens switched with us -- I mean, with the two of them; I came off all right. Now their bodies are running an operating system that’s called "Crazy Killers from Galaxy 10!"
That news rocked Martin. "Wait a minute, Sheila. Are you saying that that icredibly gorgeous bimbo actually was Schitz, and now they've stolen Callahan's and Spielman's bodies, too?"
"Something like that!"
“So why didn’t they switch you?”
“They...They told me I had a bad flavor. I didn’t get it. It must be an alien thing.”
“Whatever they were thinking, you lucked out!”
I nodded absently. "They wanted to find out where D.C. stashed Schitz, and so they switched his mind with a... uh --"
"Oh, no! You don't mean they switched him with some sleazy hooker?”
I couldn't let Martin start thinking that. I had to say something quick to save my pride.
But I’d been too slow answering. "Sheila ---?"
"I -- I'm sorry, Martin. Callahan is dead. But he died like a man. They switched him into some flea-bitten old wino and bashed in his head with a brick. They told me afterwards that they’d put his body into the dumpster behind our building! Leigh -- the real Leigh -- is in there with him, too."
"Dead? That's horrible!" The guy really looked appalled. I could appreciate that.
"You're telling me?!" I said.
"How -- How did they switch him into a male wino? I thought a person had to have sex with an alien to get switched over."
Drat! I'd forgotten about that messy little detail. By trying to save my rep as a man's man, I'd put my macho image into an even greater jeopardy.
"No, that's not how it is! Since when do you believe anything that a lefty politician tells you, Martin?"
"You mean all they had to to was touch ---?"
I had to change the subject, and fast. "What are you doing here, Dewitt -- I mean, Mr. Dewitt? I thought you were at the Rex Company warehouse."
Still looking plenty shocked, Pard mumbled, "I got lucky. The warehouse was empty, but it looked recently abandoned." His expression hardened. "I went to the courthouse to ask some questions and it turns out that Rex Company was just a dummy corporation registered with another phony outfit, one that owns this closed-down tool and die shop, too. I’d swung ovr to check the premises when the Ford Taurus drove up. Now, I suppose, the aliens are going to abandon this place, too."
"Yeah. But before they do that, we have break in like gang busters and check it out. What a day t his is! If I wrote a rescue like this into a story, no one would believe it!"
"You write fiction?" he asked.
Another slip up! Callahan wrote fiction, not Sheila. "Sure!" I bluffed. "Didn't I ever mention it? Well, maybe not. We never really sat down over a Java with donuts to talk about hobbies."
I saw hesitation in his hawk-like eyes. "To tell the truth,” he sad, “I've always wanted to get to know you better, but you kept telling me to take a hike."
That was for sure! Sheila had really been a piece of work. But now I was stuck with explaining why she had always acted so badly, so that we could start working together to find my stolen body. "Well, uh, yeah, I'm shy. But I've been trying to beat down my bashfulness. I'm sorry if I gave the wrong impression. I never wanted to be mistaken for some kind of cold bitch."
He eyed me again. "Well, you’re sure not looking shy – or cold -- in that streetwalker rig."
"Well, you try wearing a combo like this I'll tell you what you look like," I suggested irritably.
Fortunately, fashion wasn't uppermost on Dewitt's mind. "Damn!" he swore. "If those bastards murdered my partner, and killed Miss Spielman, too, they're dead meat!"
I nodded. "I'm with you one hundred percent, Martin, but it won't be easy going up against Plan 9 From Outer Space! We've got to find where those crumbs are hanging out and then slap them with an ace."
He looked at me keenly. "Any ideas?" Only then did I notice how his six-one body towered over mine. Trying to look him in the eye could have given me a crick in my neck!
I nodded again. "Well, the space men are still looking for Schitz. They'll be heading for my -- for D.C.'s apartment."
"Is that where D.C. stashed the congressman?"
"Yeah! But don’t just stand there jawing! We've got to haul ass!"
“But we have to check out this dead factory!”
“Skip it for later! A life is at stake! Where’s the Honda?”
“Back there,” he said pointing.
At my first step, I winced with pain. "Could you help me find my shoes, Martin?" I asked. "Thisa lumpy asphalt hurts my feet!"
We found the shoes right off, but because my hands were still cuffed behind my back, I needed his in putting on those arch-killers. “Okay, great! Let’s put the pedal to the metal!”
"Wait a minute, Sheila," he said, "you cant’ come. This business is too dangerous for a lady --"
"Stuff it, Martin! I ain't that much of a lady!"
Chapter 9
The General Narrative, continued
To Ginger Spice’s surprise, taking a shower with a black Adonis was making her feel hot in all the right places. The pimp's hands were all over her like a pair of bloodhounds while rubbing in the suds. His every touch had a thousand synapses firing inside her curvaceous body.
Suddenly, B.J.'s hands slipped under Schitz's arms, drawing her in close....
"No!" Ginger yelled, shoving the randy dude back. That made B.J. lose his footing and smack down on the tiled shower floor. The nude girl used the fact that he was floored to throw open the shower door and make for the living room.
Blackjack, getting up, gave his bruised pelvis a good rubbing. 'Oh, shit! That's one mixed up broad!' he was thinking. Though miffed, the pussy chaser didn’t have to worry about Ginger Spice giving him the slip. The door was locked and the pad had no fire escape.
The pimp dried himself off and then pulled on a fresh pair of boxer shorts. Only then did he go looking for Ginger. He found sitting on a wet spot on the settee, feeling trapped and looking glum. B.J. tossed his towel into her face.
"Your wet behind is wrecking the furniture, you dumb bunny! Do you know how much ass you'll have to sell to replace the upholstery?"
Ginger took the towel and used it to cover her water-beaded breasts. While she was obsessing about being a lady, Blackjack was pondering his options. Once he figured out what he wanted to do, he grabbed the dark-complected girl and jerked to her feet. He was done with being a nice guy. This uppity gal needed to be sweetened up.
"You and me have got to have a contract, so lemme lay it out for you,” he said. “If you say our loud that I'm your sweet man, that'll put the seal on our street marriage. You'll belong to me from then on and I'll start taking care of you – if you like it or not."
The ebony gal gave him a glare. "You belong in lock-up! I want out of here!" Schitz had no idea where she was going to go if she did leave, but as a Congressman he had never had a plan for planning beyond the next bribe opportunity.
Blackjack, his patience used up, hoisted Ginger up and flung her over his hard, Tarzan-like shoulder. Ignoring the babe’s kicks, yells, and beating fists, he toted her into his laundryroom. There, he set her down on her bare feet under a pair of Velcro cuffs that dangled from the ceiling. Before she knew what was what, he had cuffed one of her wrists. Ginger, realizing what he was going to do next, struck at him with her free arm, but B.J. captured it, too and in five seconds he had her with both arms raised.
"Let me go, you son of a bitch!" she yelled.
"I wanted to be nice, sugah, but you keep insulting my hospitality. You can either be my bitch or my pooch. It's up to you."
"Go soak your head!"
"You said you were a lawyer, and you sure do act uppity like one," said Blackjack. "I only wish you were a real mouthpiece you could do my shystering for free. But because you don’t have a law degree, you’re going to have to make it on the street selling that nice behind of yours." He left the room and returned with a light, supple chain with an alligator-type clip affixed to either end.
"This little accessory is the think you need to concentrate your mind," the pimp said. He clipped each of her nipples in turn, leaving Ginger to yelp at the discomfort.
"Take these things off me, you bastard!" she demanded. The chocolate bunny violently jiggled her breasts, but the hardware wouldn't shake loose.
"Am I your sweet man?" Blackjack asked, his teasing voice as smooth as rippling silk. “Say yes and you’ll be my street wife for ever and ever.”
"No!"
"Then I'll have to leave you here to get acquainted with your new friends."
B.J. went to fetch his continuous-play cassette player. Into it, he shoved a subliminal tape that all the pimps swore by. It was an hour-long recording of the underground ditty "I'm a Ho," played repeatedly. This was a very, very special version of the song. It had been altered by a smart-as-hell audio tech working for the FBI. He’d already known that the feds were ass-deep into mind-control. That was how they were able to turn out all those mass-murdering shooters so that the people would feel guilty and give up their Second Amendment rights. But that was only the tip of the iceburg.
The Dems had loaded the FBI down with randy, degenerate freaks who were making their moolah from running world-wide dope sales and human trafficking. They had ordered the FBI tech to create a super efficient subliminal recording to make captive women' enthusiastic about selling sex.
According to the story told on the street, the tech, despite his job satisfaction, had gotten tired of his pretty-but-lazy wife’s bad attitude. She’d been hanging around the couple’s apartment guzzling coffee and jabbering with snooty feminist friends. He’d had put instructions on the CD that would make any woman who heard it want to hear it again and again. After a few playings, its powerful message would begin to sink in. It worked like a charm, and his wife, along with her irritating girlfriends, were all turned into flat-backing hotties under the skin.
Soon, all that those freeloading man-haters could think about was getting good sex and making money from it. The tech didn't actually want own wife to start selling it – not if it meant that she’d be bringing SDTs home with her, but with the attitude repair she’d subjected her to, she started treating him nice, the way that a ho makes her pimp happy. The tech found out that streetwalkers really do make the best wives. The couple's marriage got plenty happy and the tech loaded out the tape to friends who were having problems with their own love lives. Before long, bootleg copies were hitting the street and professional players were duplicating them wholesale. It made the job of turning out a new girl as easy as pie.
When he checked in on her, the black girl was still glaring at him with looks to kill. He placed the tape player on the floor, just out of reach of her long legs, and turned it on:
I wear five-inch stilettos and my hem's up to here;
I'm a wild workingwoman and my lovin' comes dear.
I walk just like Monroe, 'got Jane Russell's shape;
When I do my love dance all the vice cops go ape.
I'm a ho,
Ho Ho Ho!
I'm a ho,
Ho Ho Ho!
When my mother criticized me I just told her I'd leave
And answer the calling of Our Good Lady Eve.
That chippie, she was turned out -- the Scriptures say so --
And the Devil made Evie the very first ho!
Eve's a ho
Ho-ho-ho
Eve's a ho
Ho-ho-ho!
Some say that I'm tacky, that I wallow in sleaze,
But I'm earning a living and I do what I please.
Most wives don't respect me, them that's happily wed,
But I know all their husbands, 'cause I met them in bed!
I'm a ho,
Ho Ho Ho!
I'm a ho,
Ho Ho Ho!
I ain't had no schoolin' and I don't own a book;
I tried out sleep-learning, but it just never took!
I'm a dunce in the kitchen and all-thumbs when I sew;
But that's unimportant 'cause I know what I know!
I'm a ho,
Ho Ho Ho!
I'm a ho,
Ho Ho Ho!
I don't need a guru who can lead me to grace;
All I want is a sweetie who' can send me to space.
Man is the master and I'm just a tease;
Don't think that I'm praying when I'm down on my knees!
I'm a hooker 'tis true!
Do-do-do-do!
Don't you wish you were, too!
Do-do-do-do!
They call me exploited 'cause a guy takes my green,
But I’m making him happy and he never acts mean.
He's my hard-lovin' daddy and he's got what I need;
He's my life-long religion; he's my Apostle's Creed.
I'm a ho,
Ho Ho Ho!
I'm a ho,
Ho Ho Ho!
All these young businesswomen wearing black clothes and gray,
That type isn’t happy when they get their own way.
This one chick's called Sammy and another's Carrie;
Not a woman among 'em doesn't wish she were me!
I'm a hooker, 'tis true!
Do-do-do-do!
Don't you wish you were, too!
Do-do-do-do!
If there's a glass ceiling, then I'm strutting right through;
There's no feminazi who can rock like I do.
Don't want their pity; I don't need she-pals;
Old Steniem sure was clueless 'bout us street-walking gals.
I'm a ho,
Ho Ho Ho!
I'm a ho,
Ho Ho Ho!
I'm a ho,
Ho Ho Ho!
I'm a ho,
Ho Ho Ho!
Blackjack then went back into the living room and punched the power button on his TV remote. The picture came on, but he was too wound up to enjoy the show. He didn’t have Georgia on his mind, but he sure had Ginger there.
All of a sudden, a door knock sounded. Always suspicious of court guys serving warrants, B.J. first went to check the peep-lens. He relaxed hugely to see a beautiful face on the other side.
The pimp unlocked the door and faced off with a smiling redhead. This whistle bait, he thought, had the words "working girl" written all over a body that just wouldn’t quit. He flashed a wide grin. "What can I do for you, Darlin'?"
The visitor gave him a naughty-girl smile. "Are you Blackjack Waters?"
"That's me. Excuse me, babe, but you don't look like you’ve come selling Field and Stream subscriptions."
"I haven't, but I've got plenty else to sell. May I come in?"
He stood aside. "Welcome to my parlor."
The redhead breezed past him and when Blackjack locked the door behind her, she gave a quirky smirk and asked, "Oh my, are you locking me in?"
He grinned disarmingly. "No, honey, it's for somebody else."
"Breaking in a new girl?"
"I might be, but that's my business. What I’m interested in is your business." He ushered her to the settee. "Take a load off, pretty woman."
The working gal sat down and crossed her legs. The look of those long stems made B.J.'s heartbeat speed up.
"I was referred to you by the Snow Man," the girl explained.
"How's the Snow Man doin'?" Blackjack asked, not being the least interested in the Snow Man just then. After fighting with Ginger for a solid hour, he wanted some quality time with a piece of willing booty.
"He's on top of things," the redhead said offhandedly. "He's doing so well, in fact, that he gave me your address, instead of taking me on himself. He said that you had a couple of bad breaks and were down to just a pair of girls. He thought you’d be up for somebody like me."
"Snow Man's got a big mouth," B.J. replied with a scowl. Having the other players thinking that he was a charity case was the last thing he wanted. His health had been a problem lately, but the mackman had been on medication and was raring to go. "And the Snow's got things wrong. I've got three girls now."
"I didn't mean to give offense."
'Those eyes of hers would melt gold bricks,' he thought. Then he put on his managerial expression. "I'll be telling you when you give offense, chickadee, and you ain't done it yet. So, you need a business agent? Is that why you looked me up?"
She nodded. "My man back in Scottsdale won a long vacation on the state-court lottery. Somehow the Nazis managed to beat the cheat and get a Republican elected for mayor. Now all the Scottsdale mackmen are all running for cover. Desert heat got to be too much for me, too."
Blackjack liked what he’d been hearing. "You've come to the right town, sweet cakes. The crooked mayor is our bitch."
His comely visitor eased herself back on the couch, her teasing lips looking kissably soft. "So, what do you say? Do you like what you see?"
"Honey, I liked what I saw even before I opened the door. But I’m not one to judge a book by its cover, if you know what I mean."
Her expression became all business. "What page do you want to begin on?"
"I like to go to the ending. That’ll tell me if the book is worth reading" he said.
The girl in mauve stood up, straightened her shoulders and lightly cleared her throat. "If that's the score, what are we waiting for?"
TO BE CONTINUED
