“Oh dear, it seems we’re out of eggs,” Vazzle was doing her daily inventory count once the restaurant had closed. The restaurant would actually close fairly early in the evenings, allowing the old couple to have some semblance of a life, but they always left some takeout meals for members to grab if they came late or called in orders in advance.
“What do you mean out of eggs?” Vank poked his head in, taking a brief reprieve from doing the dishes. “Tomorrow is international tart day. How can I make my world famous egg tarts if I don’t have eggs!”
“How can they be world famous if you’ve only ever sold them in two places,” she snickered at him. “But it’s fine. I’ll go take the scooter to the grocery store and pick some up.”
◆◆◆
“I can’t help but notice a distinct lack of eggs in your arms,” Vank went to help her bring in the groceries when she returned.
“They were out!” Hazzle reported the bad news. “I even went to the corner store and they were out too.”
“How can this be?!” Vank sounded like the world was ending.
“You could always use powdered eggs,” she suggested, knowing full well what it would bring forth.
Vank’s face went red and a finger started wagging. “After… how long have we been married for?”
“47 years.”
“After 47 years, you would dare suggest that I ever use powdered eggs for my world famous egg tarts?! You wound me…”
Hazzle had said it on purpose, finding it fun to get him riled up even after all this time. “Where are you going?” She asked when he reached for his going-out hat.
“To Hedgehind, of course,” he grabbed his keys. “Gonna get some eggs even if I have to drive to the end of Rathe.”
“Well, I’m coming with you,” Hazzle put back on her going-out shawl. “You know I don’t like you driving alone so late at night.”
The drive down the highway was fairly calm and uneventful. Their talk was pretty simple, mostly discussing whatever billboards they came across. After 47 years, they’d had pretty much every important conversation that could be had, talked about everything there was to talk about. Yet, they still loved each other as much as the day they met and wouldn’t want to spend their time with anyone else.
“What the hell is going on here?!” Vank nearly fell over in disbelief when they reached the dairy section. “Not a single egg left! Oh wait…” He saw a glimmer of shell hidden at the bottom of the shelf, and picked it up only to find an egg cracked open. “Damn, not even enough to make a meatloaf. We’re going to the next store!” He rushed towards the front, moving faster than he had in probably 20 years.
Two more stores, two more gut-wrenching disappointments and building confusion. Hazzle did her best to try and look up any news about an egg shortage on her phone, but didn’t find anything. Finally, at the fourth store, there was a glimpse of hope. They saw someone checking out with a carton of eggs.
The couple rushed to the back and then their hearts sank. A man was loading up all the remaining cartons of eggs into two carts. “Oh, I’ll just go grab one,” Hazzle rushed over to the end to grab a carton or two before the man could get to them. But he saw her coming, rushed to block her, and ended up shoving her a few feet out of the way.
“Hey buddy!” Vank confronted the man once he made sure Hazzle was okay. “My wife here is just trying to get a carton of eggs, and you do that to her?! What the hell is wrong with you?!” The man ignored him and continued loading up eggs into the carts.
“Listen, I’m talking to you!” Vank moved to the front of one of the carts and grabbed hold, impeding his progress. “Who are you to deny us eggs, huh?! Now I’m furious at what you just did, but if you let us take a few cartons, I won’t press any charges.” He felt bad not standing up more for Hazzle’s honor, but both of them knew the eggs were more important.
“Move, or you will be moved,” the egg hoarder finally said something.
“No way! I’m not going to be intimidated by—!”
“Vank!” Hazzle rushed over to him after the man pushed him to the ground with the cart.
“I’m fine,” he assured her, but still looked to be in a bit of agony. “You may want to cover your ears, Hazzle. I’m about to say some words I don’t want you to hear.”
She went to get him a cart to support himself with while he vented a little. Overall he felt okay, just a bit sore and wobbly, but he had a cane in the car for such emergencies. What they didn’t expect to find was a ripped piece of paper under their windshield wiper with a phone number scrawled on it.”
“Hello?” a male voice answered when Vank called the number
“Who is this?” Vank demanded to know.
“You called me. Who are you?” the voice retorted.
“This is Vank, as in the guy who’s going to shove a boot up your hiney if I don’t start getting some answers.”
“Ah, Vank! My old friend. I heard you had a run in with one of my men. My apologies for his discourtesy.”
“Rony, you Opossyote-faced bastard. That’s you, isn’t it?!”
“So rude, Vank, but that’s just like you. I thought you’d be happier hearing from an old friend.”
“Friends my ass! And you can take your apologies and shove ‘em. Apologize to my wife if you feel so bad! Now what are you doing taking all the eggs?! And why are you doing it on the other damned side of the world?!”
“Getting right to the point, I see,” Rony’s tone went a bit more serious. “The answer is simple. We’ve decided to expand. Of course, our main restaurant is still booming in Constead, but we’re going to have a few food trucks around the world. The first one will be launching tomorrow in Bisomote.”
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“Why do I get the feeling this isn’t a coincidence?” Vank wasn’t falling for any of his zjik.
“Because it isn’t!” Rony gave a blunt laugh. “As you know, tomorrow is international tart day! We will be blessing the citizens with delicious egg tarts. And where will Vank’s world-famous egg tarts be? Nowhere!”
“Why the hell are you doing this?” Vank could barely believe his ears. “Our restaurants aren’t competing anymore. We’re in a completely different country. Can’t we just let the old beef die?”
“Again with the stupid questions, Vank. I’m doing this because of that final insult. I will never let you forget it, and I will never forgive you until your legacy is run into the ground!” Vank had to pull his ear away from the phone since Rony’s screaming had gotten too loud.
“What did you do to insult him?” An eavesdropping Hazzle asked. Vank merely shrugged, not recalling anything of the sort.
“Now listen here, you third-rate chef,” Vank still wasn’t going to let it go lightly. “I’m going to find you. I’m going to get those eggs. I’m going to make you apologize to my wife. And then tomorrow, we’re going to beat your ass fair and square. It’ll be an egg tart showdown!”
◆◆◆
Nathym got off the secret elevator into his workshop and walked over to the front counter. It was well past his business hours, but it wasn’t even close to the first time someone had made a late-night call for his services. This person was persistent, ringing the bell at the counter nonstop until Nathym finally made his way. He wasn’t expecting Vank of all people, though.
“Evening Nathym. I could use your help finding someone,” Vank got to the point immediately.
“Uhhh, Phon would probably be better at something like that. Is she not around?” Nathym was confused why he in particular was sought out for this.
“Eh, that’d take too long,” Vank was oddly impatient. “You got a big satellite up in the sky, right? Could that find someone?”
“I mean, yeah sure, but it could take a while,” Nathym admitted. “Do you happen to have a copy of their ID? That would probably speed things along since we could hack into some surveillance databases.”
“What about a car?” Vank pivoted entirely. “This mug drives a stupid custom car that I bet he brought all the way out here. Shouldn’t be far.”
“Uhhh, I suppose,” Nathym was unsure. “If it’s pretty unique and within a limited range, that might be faster. Give me the details.”
“It’s an oldsmobile. Would look real nice if he didn’t butcher it. It’s painted purple with gold trim and rims. Has a golden plate on the roof with a matching golden knife and fork next to it. There’s a crown on the top of it that spins.”
“What the zjik…” Nathym groaned in disbelief as typed in the parameters. “Alright, it’s searching, but it might still- Oh, it found it.” He jotted down the address onto a card and slid it over to Vank.
“Hot damn!” Vank slapped his hands down onto the counter. “You’re a wizard, Nathym. Double dessert for you for the next week!” Suddenly, the look in his eye changed and he sternly stated, “Now, I’m gonna need some guns.”
“Huh?” Nathym wasn’t sure he heard him correctly.
“Yeah, and a battering ram too! Ooo, maybe a bazooka if you got any lying around.”
“I got it!” Hazzle declared proudly when she entered the room. She’d left Farian’s clinic which had been added on as an extension of Nathym’s workshop, but they shared a waiting room. “Farian gave me the good stuff!” She showed off two giant needles, one in each hand.
“Score! Hit me with it honey!” Vank rolled up his pant leg. Hazzle jammed the needle into his thigh and injected every last drop of liquid.
“Woo, that’s the ticket!” Vank started hobbling around the room, his posture getting better with each stride. Nathym wasn’t quite sure what Farian had given them, but it seemed similar to Drim’s energy boosting abilities. Regardless, he’d need to have a talk with the doctor about giving out dangerous substances to anyone who asked.
“That feels so good, I think I could do a backflip!” And then she did. Hazzle performed a perfectly executed backflip and landed solidly on her feet, and she impressively managed to keep her dress from riding up the entire time. “So did ya find him?!” she was eager to check her husband’s progress.
“Yup, our boy Nathym here found him in a jiffy,” Vank reported. “He was just about to give me some weapons.”
“Uhh, no I wasn’t,” Nathym wasn’t really sure what in Cosmos’ name was going on, but their crazy escapade would end with him. “Whatever you’re planning, wouldn’t it be best to ask one of us to handle it. This sounds too insane for you two to be doing, so I won’t enable it.”
“Ahhh, that’s such a shame,” Hazzle walked over to the counter and slid her hands on it, slumping over slightly, patting her palms a few times. “Such a shame that your favorite sandwich is just going to vanish off our menu for good.”
Nathym leaned back in his stool, thinking seriously for a moment. “Welp, my hands are tied,” he merely shrugged. “But I’m not giving you actual ammo. You’ll have to settle for paralyzing rounds. So what did you need?”
◆◆◆
“Oh yeah, stack 'em high boys!” Rony gleefully watched his stooges work as they piled carton after carton of eggs into the refrigerated warehouse. “That’s every egg within a hundred lages! No way those two will find enough before tomorrow. Bet they’re begging local farmers right now for even a single egg!”
Rony began to laugh like a supervillain. He felt like the king of an egg empire—well he’d always thought of himself as a king after all, so it fit nicely. He’d wasted a good chunk of his savings on all these eggs, but it was worth it for the perfect revenge. The mastermind had even gone as far as to send his goons to their restaurant earlier that day and order nothing but egg dishes so they’d be certain to run out. Maybe he’d even smash some in front of Vank’s face just to watch him cry.
Nothing would bring him more joy than paying Vank back for his insult. After the couple had moved away from Constead, Rony had received a package in the mail. Inside were their two plaques from their former restaurant along with the note ‘Guess you need these more than we do.’ Unforgivable, but he’d have his vengeance soon.
His pre-celebration of triumph was cut short when the wall burst behind him. Through the smoke left behind, he saw two silhouettes walking through the hole in the wall. Imagine his surprise when it was two geriatrics, especially two that he was intimately familiar with.
“We’ve come for the eggs!” Vank boasted, dropping the bazooka he’d blown the wall with and pulled out two submachine guns. Hazzle came out from the smoke a bit slower, but when Rony saw what she was carrying, the slow pace made sense. Somehow a woman who could barely get around without a walker was toting a full-sized minigun that the burliest of burly men would struggle to carry.
Several witty responses came to Rony’s mind, but his mouth wasn’t moving. He was practically paralyzed that things had escalated to this point. In fact, just seeing the destruction, he was immediately ready to surrender, but they didn’t give him the chance.
Hazzle began to unload countless rounds into the warehouse, spraying the minigun in every direction, sweeping it horizontally to make sure she covered as much ground as she could. Almost all of Rony’s workers, himself included, dropped immediately from the paralysis ammo. The shot hurt, but at least they were then out of range of the barrage.
The embarrassing punishment didn’t end there, though, since the shots hit countless eggs, sending goop and shells flying everywhere, coating the entire room. Those that managed to dodge Hazzle’s assault received focused fire from Vank before they even had a chance to escape. Everyone was dropped within moments.
“How’s that, Rony?! Figured you could use some help whisking some of those eggs,” Vank’s quick wit never ceased to amaze. “So what do you say?! Gonna share some with us and then apologize to my wife?!” Rony couldn’t really move, but he still nodded his head as emphatically as physically possible.
The next day, Vank and Hazzle set up a stand outside the Fiends For Hire compound—Free tarts for all. It was a huge hit, but sadly they didn’t get the chance to compete. Their self-proclaimed competitor never actually showed that day.