Louis and Harry 720 words

One of the aliens paced the observation room, clawed feet scratching the tile floor.  The other, blue lips twitching, examined the walls, the one-way viewing windows and the light switch with his tongue.  He had the look of a bug trapped in a Ball jar.

They had been captured immediately when their ship crashed into a hot dog vendor on the corner, smashing his cart.  Two of New York’s finest happened to be waiting in line for Coney dogs and were on hand to seize the aliens and cart them off to police headquarters.  They were now in “holding”.

Suddenly the blue-lipped one discovered a small radio on a corner table.  One twist of the dial and music blared from the little black box.  “The hills are alive with the sound of music!” he exclaimed with joy.

The pacer, aka Louie, stopped in his tracks and stared at the other.  “ Harry, you are an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”  Harry continued rocking  around the room as The Mouth and McNeal greeted them from the box with  How Do You Do?                     

Before landing, the two had agreed that they would only speak English to each other once they were on the ground.  They had thought that the squeaks and squeals of their native language would be too frightening for the people of Earth.  They had chosen simple names as aliases for Earth. 

Unfortunately, neither had completed the full course in English before they left on their journey.  Louie had chosen his name in hopes that they would go to France.  He considered his French excellent.  His English tended to be slanted toward classic literature.  Harry, on the other hand, had not studied formally at all.  He had picked up his English from the radio waves that pulsated from Earth – songs, advertisements, talk radio.

“Do you have an idea about how we might escape this intolerable prison?”

“You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog,” replied Harry.

They heard the keypad buzz as two men of Earth entered the door.  One went to pull out the table and chairs that were against a wall.  One waved his hand, as if to invite them to sit down on one side of the table.  “Walk right in, sit right down, baby, let your mind roll on?” inquired Harry.

“Something like that, Scale-Face,” replied the cop.  “Ok, so what’s the gig?  This better be good.”

“We come in peace,” declared Louie.

“ We love you truly, truly dear,” sang Harry.

“Well, the hot dog vendor is in the hospital.  You’ll be responsible for his medical bills and for the cost of the cart.  Thank God, he’s going to be alright or you guys would be looking at Manslaughter for starters.”

“Halleluya !” sang Harry.  He continued singing in a non-English language.

“Hebrew,” explained Louie. “He caught it on the radio waves emanating from this most esteemed planet.”

The cops rolled their eyes at each other.  It had been one of those days; no dogs for lunch, then having to deal with these two lizards.

“We’re going to let you go,” said the cop who hadn’t spoken.  “Stay away from the dogs, man.  Cops gather there.  We need to do some paperwork and then you can leave.” 

“But, we’d like an audience with the King,” Louie said.

“Sorry, The King died thirty-four years ago.  I’d suggest you find the Mayor.  Most people know where he is.  He’d be glad to see you, I’m sure.”

Thirty minutes later, they were back on the street.  New Yorkers crowded around them, apparently in a big hurry to get somewhere.  They barely gave Louie and Harry a glance. 

Harry, always attuned to the sound of music, heard strains of a rock tune.  “ That’s neat, that’s neat, that’s neat, that’s neat.  I really love your tiger feet.  I really love your tiger feet.” 

Louie pondered a minute, then said, “Well, they told us to stay away from the dogs, but said naught about tigers. Maybe the Mayor is here.”

The two turned into the nearest bar, where the strains of Tiger Feet beckoned them.