Things were cozy at the Frankenstein McMansion. Though the
February weather was frightful, in the lab it was so delightful.
Igor had just entered, dragging a leaking bag of asbestos behind
him: he'd been doing an environmental clean up at a grade school
in the nearby village. Cackling, the hunchback dropped the Hefty
sack and pretended to swing a pick ax.
"Master-- first I ripped,
then I skipped! There was a bigger snow storm inside than out!"
Kontractor Alekzander Frankenstein barely looked up from his
asbestos abatement testing equipment. Which consisted of a coffee
cup and a local newspaper, the Transylvania Tombs Union. "Toss
that sack in the stream out back" said Frankenstein. He was busy
reading coverage of his ongoing trial in the far away city of
Zyrakuze. Where ignorant mittel-European law enforcement officials
were accusing him and his elderly colleague, Dr. Praetorious, of
a decade of environmental crimes against God and Man. Ones also
involving sophisticated fraud, state wide conspiracy and money
laundering. As he read, Frankenstein relaxed. The TTU story
tactfully downplayed 3 months of unflattering court testimony.
Nor did it mention current public safety experiments Frankenstein
and Praetorious were conducting under the new name of Krankenstein
Inc. Frankenstein tossed the paper aside. Thinking, as he often
did, that the right connections were worth their weight
"Master" Igor had returned from the reeking creek "will Wolfman
be attending your party tonight?"
"Not likely" Frankenstein began picking dead flies from air
quality testing filters "He's in deep dawg-doo for dropping date
rape drugs into tankards of ale at the village tavern. Some
peasant girl got her dirndls in a twist."
"If I may make a suggestion Master" said Igor "don't discard those
flies. Dracula is sure to bring Renfield".
"Catty catty Igor" chided Frankenstein.
The Mummy was in a foul mood. He'd been to the bathroom to do
a few Tanna leaves. When he came out Princess Ananka had smirked
and said he had toilet paper trailing from his heel. Like the
bitch didn't know it was bandage. Now a bunch of burgermeisters
and kronies had glommed on to him, wanting to trade revitalization
secrets. Yeah. Right. After centuries of living death he was
up for a rehash.
"Get this Kharis," a lout in lederhosen breathed mead in his
face "Zombies overran my village. I had a piece of the non-profit
action. The peasants fled. Now I'm gonna raze their huts. The government will pay for new ones! Me and my buds will be rolling."
"So what" said a big shot gnome from a down stream town "I've seen
decades of funding. Most of which I've pocketed. Or steered to
my favorite crawling hands. But I keep singing the same tune--
revitalization is just around the corner. All that's needed is
"I'll drink to that" said Dracula, passing by on his way to the
bar. The Mummy signalled get-me-out-of-here with his eyes. Drac
caught the cue and pretended a need to monster speak with the
Mummy. Burgermeisters & kronies took the hypnotic hint and faded.
"Thanks Drac" said the Mummy "I wish Frankenstein would do his
political networking at mob bars like everyone else. I just can't
take any more of these two bit bloodsuckers."
Dracula shook his cape from his shoulders and sighed. It was good
to be home. His box of dirt looked inviting. But workmen were
coming to the castle tomorrow. Some sort of historic rehab deal
arranged by Renfield. Who was president-for-life of the local
neighborhood association. You had to hand it to the little
madman-- he really knew how to mine community development funds.
Though it meant not hitting the sack, Drac thought it best to put
skeletons in closets and hide heaps of treasure. Because once he
was boxed he was dead to the world. Renfield played loyal servant
but he might turn rat for the right rodent. Thinking of Renfield,
Dracula smiled. He'd certainly gone ballistic when Igor had passed
him a tray of crackers and flies. Hopping up and down and
screaming that Igor was stereotyping him. Funny how those two
were always at each other's throats..
Back at the lab
Dr. Praetorious had arrived after the other guests had departed.
He was there for work not play. He and Frankenstein were getting
busy with their latest experiment. The one that would put
Krankenstein Inc. on top of the publick kontractor world.
Electricity hummed in wild waves, coursing through giant whirling
gizmos and miles of twisted glass tubing. Sparking and spritzing
at tangled conjunctions. On an operating table lay an immense
figure swathed in sheets. A feminine form. The only other
discernable feature were great sausage like fingers peeking out
from beneath the sheets. Fingers colored a dirty green.
"Master-- should I throw the switch?" Igor was eager.
Alekzander Frankenstein looked to his mentor, Dr. Praetorious.
The old man nodded. "Do it" said Frankenstein.
Crackle! Zing! Bada bing! For several long moments shock after
shock hit the shrouded figure with no result. But then, with a
mighty lurch the giantess heaved herself up. The sheets fell back,
revealing a body made from what looked like paper mache. Though
the basic skin tone was the same dirty green as the fingers, the
epidermis overall was a wash of fragmented images. Like blurry
tattoos. Yet the images were still identifiable as portraits and
numbers. The portraits were of a handful of mittle-European dead
presidents. The numbers, denominations. Large ones.
"Behold" Praetorious exulted "The Bribe of Frankenstein!"
"It's alive! It's alive!" shrieked Kontractor Frankenstein
As if in response, the creature struggled to speak. Her eyes
rolled. She made inarticulate sounds. Her hands outstretched
imploringly. Finally words came forth: "Please. Me remove
asbestos. Lead. Bad things. Build roads. Sewers. Bridges.
Haul waste. Get job done. Do best job. No bid rig. No lie."
For a moment all was still. Then Praetorious covered his face
with his hands. His shoulders sagged. Frankenstein turned to Igor
who cringed backwards. The man of science was fighting to control
himself. He lost the battle.
"You idiot" he screamed "You dropped the brain."
Carola Von Hoffmannstahl-Solomonoff
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