Experiment #380

Wipple Gang: Prospect Part 1

“I’d give her three days,” I said, “till this stink hole breaks her.” But I was wrong, it took a lot longer’n that. 

Lots a lost souls flew out here to strike it rich in the Plaskar deposits that were “everywhere.” Only problem was any vein big enough for a rumor to travel back to Earth was twice bled dry by the time the dreamers got here.

Beyond the fortune hunters. no one came here ‘less they had to. No motel to speak of. No natural curiosities or festivals. In fact, most people who came only stayed cuz they’d spent their last dime getting here. A few struck it rich, but only enough to keep the rumor mill running, never enough to make a difference.

“I’d give her a whole week,” Stank Foreman said. His real name was Pete, but no one could remember the last time he’d bathed, not even him. He’d be hard company to keep if I could remember the last time I’d bathed. 

“See that crinkle in her nose,” I said as she stepped further into the room and learned what B.O. really meant. “Three days max.”

“I’ll see that and raise you two days,” Stank said. I was about to call his bluff and raise him another four days when I heard some yammerin’.

Johnny Fox, a lecherous old duffer if ever there was one, sprang to his feet to offer her a seat. She thanked him, but stopped when she saw the state of the chair and the marks Johnny’d left there. 

“There’s that crinkle again,” I said. “I’ll raise ya a week.”

Stank laughed, but stopped short. Johnny Fox had put his hand where it didn’t belong. Many a young lady had suffered more from fools such as Johnny, but crinkle or no, this one punched him in the jaw and brought her knee up where Johnny didn’t think it belonged. He howled and fell to the ground, one hand on his face and the other on his crotch. 

Experiment #381

Wipple Gang: Prospect Part 2

She stood over him for a minute prepared to teach him another lesson. Just then Jimmy Fox, Johnny’s oaf of a brother walked in the saloon. 

“What’s this here?” he roared.

I looked at Stank. “Raise ya a stint in the cooler,” he said and winked at me. I nodded back. The bar fight that followed was one for the record books. They, Stank and I, still talk about the great brawl of ‘41 as if the whole quadrant was involved, though it wasn’t much more than Jimmy, us and the lady. When all was said and done, Stank and I and the lady stood there with most of our teeth and all of our pride. 

We didn’t win the fight by any stretch, and we all got kicked out of the saloon, but the Fox brothers would think twice before winning a fight with us again.

The lady’s hair had fallen out of its tight bun and blood and dirt crusted on each cheek and knuckle. But she was no worse for wear than Stank or I. In fact she’d even hit Jimmy with a bar stool and a well placed fifth of Martian whiskey. It didn’t do any damage or slow him down, but it was something. to. see!

Stank and I mostly succeeded in punching each other when Jimmy ducked.

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” I said standing, doffing my cap and extending my hand to help her up. “I’m Clem Alban. If you don’t mind the stench, this is my buddy, Stank Foreman,” I said pointing to him. 

“I’m Mavis,” she said. “Mavis Wipple.”

And thems was the humble beginnings of the notoriously overestimated Wipple Gang.