Arizonian Pride

Arizonian Pride Chapter 8

Whrrrrrrrrrr!

"Uh… Mike? Is it supposed to sound like that?"

"Of course I'm sure, Bob! I've been handlin' this baby here for almost ten years now! It ain't gonna sound any different than that when you try to start it up."

"Okay, okay. Lemme try again."

The construction worker turned the keys in the ignition a few more times. The engine of the giant yellow crane coughed and sputtered each round, but did not start up. His senior instructor walked away to light himself a cigarette.

"Darn! What does it take?" Bob moaned.

Mike sighed. "C'mon, lad, let me do it."

"Nonono. I'LL do it. Third time's the charm."

Another few more turns, and a low rumbling sound was heard… finally.

"Hey, Mike! MIKE!" Bob called out to his senior worker. "I think I got it! Listen to her purr, man. *Wolf whistle* "

Mike walked over and took a look at his beloved machine. "N-no, Bob. It's not running. You haven't turned it on yet."

"Whaddya mean I haven't turned it on? Don't you hear the engine rumbling?"

"I'm telling ya, ya didn't turn it on! Look at this meter here," the senior worker pointed at something in the driver's seat. "The engine's still dead cold!"

"Then where's that rumbling coming from?"

"......"

Confused, both workers slowly turned towards the source of the sound. A peaceful-looking barn stood in that direction. But beneath that tranquil appearance, the workers knew that something is warming up behind those red wooden doors.

Something much bigger than their crane...

Suddenly, the doors of the barn burst open. A monstrous harvester stood there, with Randy cackling behind the controls.

"Yeeeeeehaaa!" he hollered in his gruff, yodeling voice. So who's ready fer some car-bustin' today? Lil' ol' Martha and ah here sure are!" he announced, patting the side of his harvester through the window. "You government and company peeps wanna play along?" he teased.

"M-M-M-Mike?" Bob stammered. "I th-th-think we b-b-better get the c-c-crane started now, sh-shall we?"”

Mike silently nodded. They both hopped into the crane and turned it on for dear life in one try.

Randy steered his harvester forward. There were at least a dozen police cars all around his ranch, observing the smooth flowing of the demolition plans. An idea flashed in Randy's mind, and he guided his machine towards the nearest car.

"C'mon, Martha my dear," Randy cooed at his harvester. "Let's show 'em what a real demolition is like!"

O'Malley watched in horror as Randy effortlessly ran over the flashing, wailing vehicles. Where fully functioning police cars once stood, now lay nothing but a heap of scrap metal and busted circuits. The sirens went silent in an instant. Randy threw his head back and laughed as he witnessed cops all over his personal property panic and scatter in all directions, away from him and his monster machine. They began shouting orders and warnings at anyone who would listen, bumping into one another at the same. It was a rather amusing scene for a veteran who rarely gets excitement around his ranch.

"Three down, n' a coupla them more, n' mah job 'ere's finished," Randy announced satisfactorily. He steered his harvester towards his next targets.

Just then, a big-bellied head policeman stepped out from the largest of the police cars, carrying a microphone. He stood at a safe distance from Randy's monstrous machine.

"RANDY McCLARENCE! THIS IS CHIEF SMITH SPEAKING! WE HAVE BEEN PATIENT AND FRIENDLY WITH YOU ALL THIS WHILE, BUT NOW YOU HAVE CROSSED A LINE! IN THE NAME OF THE LAW, I ORDER YOU TO STOP, OR GET READY TO FACE THE CONSEQUENCES!"

"FAT HOPE, FATSO!" the stubborn veteran yelled back. "THERE'S ONLY ONE CHIEF AH TAKE ORDERS FROM! PRRRRRRT!" He blew a hard raspberry at the cop, getting spit on the ground. O'Malley, hearing those words, grimaced at Randy's loyalty from a distance. "Oh dear," he muttered to himself.

Seething, the cop stormed back into his (uncrushed) car. Randy continued "harvesting" any eye-sore of a vehicle that stood in his way.

"STOP THAT MADMAN!" Chief McLaren yelled at his crew. "IF THIS PROJECT IS A FAILURE NONE OF YOU ARE GONNA GET A RAISE! NONE! GET TO WORK!"

The crew immediately sprang into action. They used their vehicles to form a barricade between Randy and his ranch. Randy's blood boiled. After crushing another ten cars, he decided to attack the largest mechanical threat to his humble home: the crane.

The junior constructor's face went pale at the sight of the monster machine roaring towards him. "M-M-M-M-Mike…?"

"What?"

"HE'S COMING TOWARDS US!

"

"So," Mike spoke in a sneering tone, "Mr. Tough-Guy-with-the-big-rumbling-machine wants ta play, eh? Let's get 'im, Bob."

Mike pulled a lever, and the crane slowly advanced in Randy's direction, entering the battlefield. Randy welcomed his rival by slowing down and stopping right in front of his ranch's main entrance. Both vehicles stood some 20 feet away from each other.

"Listen up, laddies," Randy yelled to his enemies. "Ah give ya ten seconds to get outta that crane before Martha and I run 'er down, and you'll go down with 'er!"

Bob opened the window and stuck his head out. "Your Martha don't stand a chance against our Long Tall Sally, and your bark sounds worse than your bite! Hahahahaha!"

Randy snarled. He revved his engines again in attempt to frighten his enemies. The ground below him vibrated with the volume of the rumble.

"Alright, then you've made your choice.”

Randy drove towards Long Tall Sally. Bob and Mike tried to dodge Randy's harvester, but it slammed into the side of the crane, creating a deep dent next to the door.

"NOOOOOO!" Mike cried. "Not Long Tall Sally!" Randy huffed and cackled again.

After a few more dents and damages, Mike realised that even his beloved crane is powerless against Martha. He turned to his junior. "Bob, get into the wrecking ball machine. We can't stop Randy, but we can at least bring his home down. The wrecking ball shall do the trick!"

Bob jumped out of the crane and ran as fast as his little legs could carry him. Randy did not see him escape. He was still too busy banging into his enemy vehicle to his heart's content.

"Randy, please, stop! This isn't helping anyone of us. Please, stop hurting my Sal!" Mike pleaded with him.

Randy stared at him through the glass of his front window, applying more pressure against the crane. "Oooooh, so you're beggin' me to stop now, are ye? Well, ah'll tell ya, ah'm an old man who lives alone here in the desert, ah am. Ah don't get much excitement around here, no ah don't. So when the opportunity comes, ah enjoy it to da fullest!"

He tossed his head back and chortled again, not letting go of his harvesters levels. Just then, Bob drove by in the wrecking ball machine and took position in between Randy and his ranch.

Randy reversed away from the crane, leaving the senior constructor to weep inside what’s left of his dearest Sally. Randy turned to face the new threat. Both Bob and the veteran glared at each other — a final showdown between the demolisher and the defender.

"It's just you and me now, old man. Sally may be done with, but let's see you get past The Blackbird!"

Randy had to admire the construction workers' choice of names for their vehicles and — possibly, too — their taste in music, but he reminded himself that this does not, and nothing ever will, make them friends.

"Martha'll squish yer bird and yer balls, you wussy," although Randy decided that Blackbird was a better song than Martha My Dear.

The battle begin. The wrecking ball swung at the harvester once. Randy swerved and barely dodged it. He sighed with relief. It swung at him again and again, but missed with every shot. Randy began to realise that steering a harvester out of harm's way, with its large mass and inertia, is pretty challenging.

"You can't dodge Blackbird's attacks forever, old man. Just give up and I might spare your life."

"You ain't gon' do nothin' to mah life, or mah ranch!" And Randy just kept dodging the wrecking ball's strikes.

Bob realised he can't keep this up forever. Randy's harvester may be big, but its swift swerves, coupled with the driver's quick reflexes, made it nearly impossible to land a blow on him, let alone his ranch. Bob was getting weary from all the effort and energy he was putting into moving and pushing The Blackbird's many levers and buttons. He needed a distraction, something to distract Randy and give him the chance to go in for the kill……

Just then, some police cars from the barrier around the ranch began approaching Randy. Chief Smith stepped out and began barking orders at Randy again through his microphone. "HEY, MISTER McCLARENCE. IF YOU DON'T GIVE UP RIGHT NOW, I'LL GIVE YOU A FREE TRIP BACK TO TEXAS! YOU BETTER THINK OF YOUR NEW FRIENDS AND FAMILY BACK AT THAT OLD FOLKS' HOME NOW. THEY MUST BE STARTING TO MISS YOU!"

That was the last thing Randy wanted to hear back in Arizona. The Whitercolls and their old subjects were the last people in the world Randy would consider friends or family. He flew into a fit of a rage and began charging towards the police chief and his car, forgetting about The Blackbird completely.

"Now's my chance!" thought Bob. He pushed the lever on his demolisher to the "silent" mode, and began stealthily steering it towards Randy's ranch.

As Randy ran over the last of the cars, the police officers argued with their chief.

"How could you provoke him like that, Chief Smith? How are we gonna go back to the station without cars now?" one of them moaned.

"Just watch, boys. The cars are nothin' compared to what's gonna happen next."

The last car was smashed to a junk pile. Randy smiled at himself with deep satisfaction. "HA! How'd ya like that now, ya fat mother-shagger? Think an old man can't do good grub, huh?"

Randy laughed and was about to retreat his harvester back into the barn, when he spotted The Blackbird about to take its first swing at his ranch.

"NO! STOP!" Randy reversed and placed Martha and himself right in the pathway of the wrecking ball. In a few seconds, everyone in the area saw the last of the monster harvester.

"Raaaaaaandyyyyy!" his best friend's voice called out in the distance, as he fell out and down, down, down from Martha. The next thing he knew, his back hit something hard — the front wall of his home — and he fell flat onto the red, Arizonian sand. The metallic smell of blood filled his nostrils.

Then, everything went black.