Perfect Fit
Perfect Tommy was having a rotten morning. He'd got back to the Institute after having his hair done to discover that everyone else had rushed off to study a volcano which had begun to form on the outskirts of San Francisco. He decided to go after them, and then he remembered that he had left his car in that morning to be re-sprayed. That was when he realised that it was going to be one of those days. Even Mrs Johnson had left the Institute to train some junior Blue Blaze Irregulars. He was all on his own, and he was bored.
He wandered around the bunkhouse looking for something to do. The first copy of the latest issue of the Buckaroo Banzai magazine was lying on a table, waiting to be approved before being printed. Tommy flicked through it, correcting a few spelling mistakes (after all, it wouldn't do to have young children learning bad grammar from Buckaroo Banzai). This didn't take long, and soon he was bored again.
Well, at least his hair was perfect. It had taken him a while to find someone who could do it just the way he liked it, but it was perfect now. His clothes were perfect too (naturally). His shoes, on the other hand, were no longer worthy of the term. They were not even worthy of the term "slightly damaged". A life of reckless adventuring, Perfect Tommy thought, could wreak havoc with your personal possessions. Yes, he could definitely do with a new pair of shoes. Something white, with gold decorations on the toes, perhaps. Or maybe something in black patent leather. Choosing shoes would stop him from being bored. He left the Institute and headed into town. It seemed a bit extravagant to take the Jet Car shoe-shopping, and it was a nice warm day, so he decided to walk. He was going to regret it.
Three hours and a dozen shoe shops later, he still hadn't found anything which was just right. He had been tempted to buy a pair which had Garfield the cat on them, but had decided against them as the other guys would make fun of him. One more try, he thought, then I'm calling it a day. In the thirteenth shop he finally got lucky. Perfect style, perfect colour, but just a little bit tight at the heel. Being Perfect Tommy, he wanted a perfect fit, so he called an assistant over and asked, "Do you have these in a larger size?"
"Certainly sir," she said, holding out a pair. As soon as she saw his face, she shrieked, "Oh my god! Perfect Tommy!"
As soon as he saw her face, he groaned. It was none other than Marsha 'The Monster' Evans, his most devoted fan. Ever since she'd seen him performing in a night club, she'd behaved as though her sole mission in life was to drool all over him. Tommy thought she was a nice enough girl in her own way, but she was just so loud! Once she'd managed to get hold of him and it had taken the combined strength of all the Cavaliers on stage to get her off.
Before she had a chance to recover from her shock he was up and running, out of the shop and into the street. Mentally he cursed himself for not bringing the Jet Car. He was cursing even louder two blocks later when he realised he had left his own shoes back in the shop and was still wearing the ones he had tried on. They were too tight and his feet were now killing him. He hobbled on until he came to Togamuri's sushi bar. This was a favourite hangout of the Hong Kong Cavaliers, partly because Tadeo Togamuri was a good friend of Buckaroo's, and partly because he made the tastiest sushi in the West.
"Good morning, Tommy-san. How may I help you?" Togamuri asked.
"Hi Tadao. Could I just have a drop of sake? There's nothing like running for my life to make me thirsty." Tommy gratefully gulped down his cup of sake. "Thanks a lot."
"Who's chasing you now? Some power-crazed evil genius? Communist agents? Hanoi Xan?"
"Worse. It's Marsha Evans!" Hearing some commotion Tommy looked down the street. Marsha was hot on his trail, still clutching the shoes she had been about to give him. And she had company.
"Oh my god, she's got half my fan club here! Togamuri-san, is there anywhere I can hide?"
"Sure, quick, climb over the counter."
Tommy had barely slithered out of sight before Marsha came thundering down the street, followed by a crowd of screaming girls, all clutching records, posters and bits of paper they hoped to get autographed. They stampeded along the street, leaving clouds of dust and confused pedestrians in their wake.
"That was too close for comfort," gasped Tommy clambering out from behind a pile of cold fish. "Have you got a van or something I could borrow to get me home?"
"Sorry, Tommy-san. All the vans are out making deliveries, but you can borrow my bicycle."
So Tommy had to cycle back to the Institute. And of course it was uphill all the way. He hadn't got very far before he realised he was being followed. The Monster and her friends had found themselves a jeep, and they were gaining on him. They must have guessed where he was heading, and there was no way he could get there before them on a bike. He might be perfect but he sure as hell wasn't bionic. Trust Buckaroo and the Cavaliers not to be around when he needed them. Goodness knows, he'd saved their lives often enough. Then it occurred to him. The Cavaliers might not be home but there were bound to be some BBIs at the Institute, and as a last resort - the strike teams. Was the situation that desperate? He glanced behind him. The jeep was getting closer. The girls' shrieks were getting louder. Yes, it was that desperate. With one hand he managed to pull out his Go-Phone.
Pinky Carruthers answered. "Hi, Banzai Institute, can I help you?"
"Look, I'm in trouble. I need a strike team ready at the front gate."
"A strike team? Tommy, you know Buckaroo doesn't like us using them without a good reason."
"I'm perfect aren't I? I think I should know a good reason when I see one. Just do it!"
"OK, you're the boss."
Tommy put the Go-Phone back in his pocket. As he did so, his fingers touched something metal. He pulled it out and discovered it was a pen knife. Saying a prayer, he opened it up and threw it towards the front wheel of the jeep. It was a direct hit. The tyre blew, and the jeep skidded to a halt. The girls swore, and started to jump out to continue their pursuit on foot. They were within sight of the Institute now. Tommy managed to put on a very special pair of ear plugs and then pedalled for all he was worth.
As he approached, the strike team rushed out to greet him. Each member of the team was wearing a huge pair of ear phones and carrying an even huger lethal looking gun. But since the Cavaliers were basically opposed to wanton destruction on a large scale (unless it was in a good cause) the guns weren't as lethal as they looked. As the strike teams began firing, the girls began dropping to the ground. Not dead, just deafened by awesomely strong sound waves, which would leave them with a headache like all their worst hangovers rolled into one. Marsha was the last to hit the ground. Before she did, she threw the shoes she'd been clutching at Tommy. They nearly knocked him off his bicycle but being perfect he was able to regain his balance, and pedalled triumphantly into the Institute.
In the bunkhouse, he tried on the shoes. Pinky came in and asked, "You OK now?"
"Sure. You certainly did a great job knocking out those girls."
"We also knocked out three hundred pigeons, forty two cats, twenty dogs, five little old ladies and two truck drivers, who then collided with each other. The cops aren't too pleased about the chaos, and I don't think Buckaroo will be either"
"So what. Big deal," said Perfect Tommy. He waved his feet at Pinky and said delightedly, "Look at these shoes. Perfect fit!"
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