Vasquez Rocks: Who had the date milkshake?

By DENNIS ANDERSON
Valley Press Editor

What went before:

Plucky Melba Trousdale lost her boyfriend during an engagement picnic at Vasquez Rocks. He was snatched by a giant tentacle near the set of one of the science fiction action flicks frequently filmed at that location. The tentacle snapped her boyfriend, Aaron Slingfact, into a pool of greenish-blue light. Somehow, the tentacle seemed a good deal more real than the cheesy movie set.

Seeking help from her ex-brother-in-law, a 6-foot-6, 258-pound bail recovery agent named Gort, Melba rode into the Big Rock Inn. At the inn, west of Palmdale, but east of Sumatra, Melba and Gort encountered Don Diego Rivera O'Reilly, a reputed UFOlogist and sometimes shaman. Just when the trio was getting down to cases to develop a theory on the missing boyfriend, the Antelope Valley's most feared outlaw motorcycle club - the Vegans - showed up, seeking room at the inn to settle a score. But with whom? Or whom? Now the little band of nomads is on the run. Do they call a cop? Do they call the Marines? Inexplicably, they call a reporter.

Chapter Six: When the going gets weird, alert the media

Seated at his cubicle in the Valley Press newsroom, Jack Slingfact was morose as a three-legged desert tortoise. The Facebook string of faces and names scrolled endlessly. Fact was, Slingfact longed for a story. A big one.

He understood many newspaper reporters lead lives of quiet desperation. Sure, they cover city council meetings, planning commissions, school boards and elected boards for public utilities, and also many chambers of commerce. It was the equivalent of an Army private painting base boards at Fort Irwin when he really wanted to be jumping out of airplanes and chasing terrorists.

Slingfact did all the little and medium-sized stories the job demanded, but that was just the waiting room for glory in the arena. Seated at his computer, he privately hoped a water main would break and maybe swallow a fire truck. An emergency without death or injuries, but that would make a good picture and a story for the front page.

Facebook, Slingfact knew, quickly became like e-mail. Too many random messages. Yet you ignored it at your peril, because at some point, real news could fall out of just one little e-mail, one Facebook log, one answered voice mail.

Slingfact longed for the days of music videos and MySpace. He wanted his MTV. It was a simpler time then. Everything changes. You took news where you found it, and these days the world was just a big social network.

He got a story off a networking site the time the California Legislature approved "Fresh Start," the release of all prisoners within 72 hours, the idea being that if everybody just got a "fresh start," they'd have no motivation to be mean anymore.

About the time Charlie Manson and Richard Ramirez got loose and went chumming away like a pair of great white sharks, well, everyone knew it was a mistake. The governor, realizing the Legislature exceeded its authority, put Charlie and the Night Stalker into a work-release program at a licensed group home.

Suddenly, he spotted a post from Bigfoot O'Riley. No one could mistake that Idaho spud of a nose.

The message was terse: "Crash meeting, Jack. Usual place."

Slingfact pulled on his leather jacket, stuffed a notebook and tape recorder into his Dockers and strode past Barclay and Drummond, the editor and managing editor.

"Story," Slingfact muttered.

"We need you for the sewage conversion meeting tonight," Drummond reminded him.

"Wouldn't miss it," Slingfact said.

"Think he was happier working features?" Barclay asked.

"Nah," Drummond said. "He just needs a car dredged from the aqueduct, and he'll be right as rain."

Leaving the news room for the white, hot bright light of early summer, Slingfact swung onto the big Harley-Davidson soft-tail that he'd won in a raffle. He'd never won anything. Then, score. Life was like that.

A crash meeting with O'Riley could mean anything. Years before, O'Riley tipped a big story about finding the diary of bandit Tiburcio Vasquez. Big story. Turned out the diary was on paper with a 1941 watermark. Big story, if true.

Slingfact was young enough to get away with an earring, and old enough to know you couldn't change the world, but wind in your face on the open road could make you feel better about it.

He gunned it to a nice cruising speed on Pearblossom Highway, and in about eight minutes was at Charlie Brown's. He wished he had a couple of meal coupons from Showcase.

Slingfact strode past the 7-foot-tall polycarbon green velociraptor with its gleaming razor sharp teeth. Roadside attraction for sale. For a few grand, you could have all of Charlie Brown's roadside attractions for your yard.

The reporter stepped past the shelves of candy and nuts, and stepped into the back room where his news source waited.

O'Riley sat as a giant book-end on the plank bench in the dining area. The other book-end was just as big. Like O'Riley, the guy was a giant. Between them was a small but sturdy woman with a cute, ash-blond bobbed haircut and a look of utter exhaustion. Melba Trousdale extended her hand.

"You're Aaron's cousin," she said. "Aaron said he had a cousin at the paper. I always wanted to be a reporter."

"We get a lot of that," Jack Slingfact said. "Most people don't like the hours."

Gort Beerata extended his meaty hand and it closed around Slingfact's. Slingfact didn't try to squeeze back until he felt the bullet sweat pop from his forehead. "Men call me Gort," Beerata said.

"What do women call you?" Slingfact asked.

Gort released his grip and clapping him on the shoulder soft enough to leave the tiniest bone bruise.

"What are we here for?" Slingfact asked.

"The lady's in trouble, and you're family," O'Riley said.

"Not money trouble, I hope. Aaron and I haven't hung out since he broke my Fender guitar. I really liked that guitar."

"He's gone," Melba said. "He's missing."

"Have you called the sheriff?"

"This thing needs to be handled discreetly," Gort said.

"So, you're talking to a reporter? We don't do discreet."

"Ya check out things, don't ya?" Gort said. "That's kinda my end of the business, too."

"Bounty hunter?"

"More like a bond representative. Ex officio. You gonna help the pretty lady find your cousin?"

Slingfact looked at Melba. She was pretty. She looked like she'd had a hard time. "You and Aaron got something going?"

"We're going to be married, I think."

"You think?"

"He was a little conflicted," Melba said. "I hoped he'd work out his issues."

"So what happened?"

"He got sucked into a worm hole or a force field or something at Vasquez Rocks after he got grabbed by a giant tentacle."

Slingfact rose from the picnic table, and raised his hand. "I'm not doing another Tiburcio Vasquez diary. Hoaxes hurt."

"I tell you true, Jack. The lady here is as sane as me."

"Not a good recommendation."

"What if your cousin is truly in mortal danger?"

"He owes me a Fender."

"Let him go," Gort said with a snort. "When you're in a jam, don't call the media."

The counter girl was bringing four date shakes when a red beam cut through one of the Styrofoam cups and bored a hole in the wall. The Vegans. The one called Ishmael lifted his mirror shades and red beam sliced across the room with a hiss.

"Time to go," O'Riley said, tossing Melba over his shoulder like a crash dummy. "No gun play."

Nonetheless, Gort racked his sawed-off 12 gauge and aimed it center mass at Zul's mirrored shades. It stopped the Vegan biker outlaws' advance long enough for Gort to drop one of his flash-bang grenades. Flash! Bang!

"Coming with?" Gort snarled at Jack the reporter. O'Riley carried Melba out the back way, past the velociraptor tail.

To be continued next Sunday, Oct. 25.

Editor's Note: It's a hard ride to Vasquez Rocks. Earlier chapters of the work can be read in their entirety at avpress.com where the chapters hide behind the big bug-eyed extraterrestrial. Now that you "middle of the movie" readers are caught up, what landmark, site or locale in the Antelope Valley do you believe will be part of Melba's quest to find her sensitive and evolved boyfriend? A prize (very small, but earnest) awaits the most creative way point that finds its way into the story.

To send potential destinations for Melba's quest, write to editor@avpress.com. Limit the destinations to the Antelope Valley.