Book 4: 3rd World Products, Inc.

by Ed Howdershelt

  Aloud, Steph said, “Selena. Toni. Ed would prefer that we wait outside. He insists."

  "No..!” Selena argued.

  "Now,” said Steph, in a voice of iron.

  She solidly gripped both womens’ arms and forcibly turned them toward the door. When the door had closed behind them, I let my gaze meet Jack's glare.

  "Now it's just you and me, Jack, and now you have to make me believe that you aren't really going to be a future problem. Not for any of us, ever. If I don't believe you, I won't take the chance that you were just making noise."

  He summoned up a short laugh. “Yeah? What the fuck are you gonna do, Daddy? Sit up every night with a shotgun?"

  I shook my head. “Bad answer, Jack. You won't be causing trouble unless you can manage it from a wheelchair. There's a ten foot drop outside the windows. You'll be broken before you fall, though. I don't like to leave things to chance."

  Jack glanced at the windows to his right. When his eyes returned to me, his glare was laced with disbelief even as he began backing away from me.

  His change of attitude seemed a little too sudden, given his prior display of obnoxious determination. I moved to keep him within kicking range and he backed a bit farther away.

  As he retreated he shoved one of the wood-and-metal chairs between us and reached for another one as if to put that one between us, too, but I saw his leg move as he hooked his foot under the seat of the chair and ducked to one side as he sent it flying at me.

  The chair breezed past me and landed crashingly among other chairs behind me. Jack already had another chair off the floor in both hands and he put all he had into slinging it at me.

  I had to get flat fast and to one side to avoid the second chair, and Jack was already coming at me with yet another of the damned chairs, raising it to use as a club as he rushed forward. A chair was near my right hand, so I swept it around in an arc and sent it skidding across the floor at his legs.

  When the chair hit his shins the pain froze him briefly and made him hiss through clenched teeth, but it barely delayed his approach. I got to my feet while he dealt with it and slung another chair at his legs, following it closely.

  Jack braced himself and let the chair hit him rather than lose the chance of swinging at me with the chair he held at shoulder-height.

  I dropped flat again to avoid his swing and Jack's momentum doubled him over the back of the chair that hit his legs. He tumbled forward, banging his chin on the corner of the seat, then he tried to shove the chair away with one hand as his other hand kept a grip on his weapon-chair.

  Kicking his supporting chair from the opposite side as he shoved it kept the chair from moving. Jack slipped and slammed his chin on the seat again.

  On my back, with both my feet now on the legs of that chair, I shoved as hard as I could.

  I went sliding one direction on the hardwood floor and Jack went the other, toppling backward into yet another chair.

  He let go of the chair and tried to keep from landing hard, but his head hit the floor with a resounding thud that seemed to stun him for a moment.

  Before he could clear his head, I knelt next to him, got a grip on his hair, and slammed his head on the floor another three times fast.

  While he was more or less stunned I quickly got to my feet and jumped straight up, intending to land with both feet as hard as possible in the dead center of his belly.

  Jack wasn't quite stunned enough. He made a small, screeching scream as he quickly and successfully rolled himself sideways to get out from under my landing.

  I kicked him hard twice in the kidneys to make him arch and freeze, then stomped his head against the floor twice. His eyes glazed for a moment and he rolled on his back.

  As I again prepared to jump on his belly, Jack dazedly lifted his left arm weakly and whisperingly screamed, “No!"

  Instead of landing on his belly, I changed course to let my feet land on his knees and slide off them.

  Jack screamed as the backs of his knees ground against the floor. He rolled over to curl himself up and tried to hug his knees without bending his legs.

  "Now tell me why, Jack. Tell me why I shouldn't break your goddamned arms and shove your ass out a window."

  He looked up and back at me as if I'd shattered some deeply held belief of his, and maybe I had. Jack was used to being on the other end of pain.

  He remained still as he said, “I ... I didn't think you..."

  "What? That I could actually take you down? Or that I'd really pitch your ass out a window? Do you think so now?"

  He nodded, hissingly discovering the pain of moving his neck as he almost whispered, “Yes."

  "You just stay real still, there, Jack. You threatened my friends and me and I believed you. Do you truly believe that I'll do whatever the hell I have to? More importantly, do you truly believe that I can do it?"

  Through gritted teeth, he again muttered, “Yes!"

  Moving slightly as if to prepare to kick him again, I asked, “Really, Jack? You really believe? ‘Cause if I don't believe you, I'm going to finish this right now. I may go to jail for a while, but I won't have to worry about my friends going to the hospital because of you."

  He flinched away as my foot moved and said, “Yes! Yes, I believe you!"

  My options: Cripple him and likely spend some time in jail or let him go now and make it look right for the cops if he showed up later.

  "Well, Jack, I don't really want to go to jail on a weekend, so I'm going to walk out of here now. If you mess with any of us again I'll set it up so the cops'll find you dead with a knife in your hand. I don't much care if you believe me about that ‘cause you'll find out if you try it, but at least tell me you understand what I'm saying."

  After a moment, he said in a flat tone, “Yes. I understand."

  "Uh, huh. We'll watch for you anyway, Jack."

  I turned and walked away from him toward the door, listening hard for sounds of leftover aggression. There were none. At the door, I could see his reflection in the narrow glass pane; he was still on the floor, clutching his knees and glaring after me. I left the room and headed down the hallway to the main foyer restroom.

  Dusting off and washing my face and hands, I checked my front and back in the sink mirror and found no unnoticed injuries or ripped clothing. I ran a comb through my hair and headed out of the building, watching for an ambush and staying in the middle of the corridor, but nothing happened.

  Chapter Sixteen

  "Steph,” I called through my implant, “Where are you?"

  "We're by the front doors, Ed. On the benches by the steps."

  "Where's Jack?"

  "He's crossing the quad, heading toward the parking area."

  I noted that she didn't ask what had happened or how I was. Glancing quickly around above my head I saw her tiny field probe suddenly vanish like a soap bubble.

  "Jack promised to stay away from all of us,” I said, “I don't know if we can really believe that, but short of actually crippling him..."

  "Indeed. I'm very glad that I won't have to visit you in prison, Ed."

  "Well, I'm very glad that pleases you, miLady. Since you haven't asked about my condition, I'd like to say that I hope you have some horse liniment in your first-aid kit. I expect to feel this encounter for a few days."

  "Is this a ploy to gain sympathy and attention?"

  "I didn't say that I was injured, did I? I'm just expecting to feel things for a while, that's all. Jeez, lady, gimme a break. Hey, you won't rat me out if I limp a little for Selena and Toni, will you?"

  "Oh, no, of course not, Ed. They'd see through such a ploy the first time you limp on the wrong leg. I reserve the right to laugh at that time, of course."

  "You're such a comfort to me, Steph."

  "It's part of the job, Ed."

  As soon as I turned the corner that brought the front doors into view, Selena and Toni hurried to intercept me and walked with me to the doors.

  After multiple reassura
nces that I was unhurt, Selena punched my arm somewhat harder than she usually did when she wanted to make a point.

  "You could have been hurt, Ed! What the hell were you thinking? Stephie could have..."

  I stopped walking and turned to face her.

  "Don't hit my arm like that, lady. I'm going to have enough bruises later. What I was thinking was that Jack is a first-class obsessive asshole who'd have kept after Toni. Because we're her friends, we'd be on his list, too, if only as places to look for her. For what it may be worth, he agreed to leave us all alone."

  Toni looked astonished. “He actually said that?"

  I nodded. “Yeah."

  We'd reached the flitter and climbed aboard before Toni spoke again.

  "Jesus,” said Toni. “If he said something like that at all ... Well, you'd have to know Jack. I saw him lose to a wrestler-guy once. The guy put him down four times, but Jack got up and jumped on the guy's back when he tried to walk away. The guy had to choke him unconscious just to get away from him. How the hell did you get him to say something like that?"

  "I just did, Toni. Steph, unless anyone needs to stop somewhere, we can head over to Merritt Island now."

  Nodding to me, Steph lifted us eastward.

  "But...” started Toni.

  Stephanie said, “Maybe we don't really need to know, Toni."

  "Huh? Why not?"

  "Because Ed seems reluctant to speak of it. That's reason enough."

  Toni let slip a small grin and said, “Oh, right. Now I really want to know."

  "But I don't want to talk about it,” I snapped. “Let it go, Toni."

  She flared and said, “If we don't know what happened, how can we be sure he really won't come looking for us?"

  "You couldn't and you can't, whether I tell you what happened or not. People will do whatthehell ever they're gonna do, Toni. If Jack can talk himself into thinking that I just got lucky, he might not give it up. There's no way to know that unless he tries something. Anything else is guessing, and rather than do that, we'll just assume the worst and try to be ready for him."

  Toni's gaze narrowed and she said, “I want to know what happened in there, Ed."

  I sighed and said, “Then ask Stephanie to play it back for you later, but not while I'm around."

  Selena gave me a frustrated, questioning look and asked, “Why not when you're around?"

  "Because I asked you not to. Do I need more of a reason for that, too? When you don't want to talk about something, do I bug you about it?"

  Selena looked at Toni, then back at me, shook her head and said, “No, I guess not. Okay. Fine. Sure. Happy?"

  "Happy enough,” I said, rising and walking to the back of the flitter to gaze out at the receding countryside.

  Through my implant, Stephie asked, “May I ask that same question, Ed? Why may I show them a replay later, but only when you aren't with them?"

  "They won't like what they'll see me do to Jack and they'll need some time after that to let it soak in and settle into a place where it won't bug them too much. I don't want to deal with their immediate questions and opinions about how I dealt with Jack, and if I give them some time alone with it, the impact will diminish a bit before they can bring it up."

  "Would you mind if I include myself in their discussions? I found your treatment of Jack ... disturbing ... as well, Ed."

  "Go for it, Steph, but before you do, try to get Toni's total perception of Jack. Legal threats and restraining orders don't stop some people. The only things that stop them are lots of pain and real fear."

  Steph took us in a generally straight line from Gainesville to Merritt Island, arcing us upward somewhat to avoid the complex flight patterns around Orlando.

  As we began settling back to Earth, I recognized the NASA Causeway and the County road #3 cutoff that led south down the approximate middle of Merritt Island.

  About half a mile south of the cutoff was a sign that said “Palmas"—the name of the condo complex they'd built in what had been a swamp—and another half mile east of CR-3 was a cluster of two-story buildings surrounded by parking lots. It looked to me as if they'd just plopped some cement in rectangular patterns and then built odd-looking houses on it.

  "Steph, would you put up a picture of Engles for us?"

  A field screen popped into being and a Florida driver's license appeared. Brown hair, brown eyes, six feet, one-sixty-five. Heavy brows and the kind of face that looks slightly confused or sad all the time due to the shape of the eyes.

  Most of the cars I saw in the parking lot had Patrick AFB or Cape Canaveral bumper stickers. That seemed to pretty much make the condo complex a GI village, possibly even leased off-base housing.

  "There,” said Steph, indicating a two-story duplex on our left.

  After waiting for a car below to pull into a space and clear the driveway, Steph made the flitter visible with the fake stainless canopy and hull and we landed.

  The guy getting out of his car spotted us and froze, then he reached back inside the car and sounded his horn in a couple of long blasts. That wasn't a civilian reaction. A civvy might have stood staring or run screaming, but damned few would have sounded an alert with a car horn. Faces appeared at windows and doors almost instantly.

  We got off the flitter, then walked up to the door of 153-C and rang the bell. Some moments later the door opened and a man's eyes registered first me, then the ladies, then the flitter behind us. The eyes and face definitely belonged to Engles.

  After a long moment his eyes refocused to survey Toni, Sel, and Steph, and then found their way back to me.

  "Hi,” I said. “You must be Rich Engles."

  "Uh, yeah, that's me,” he said, then he looked at the flitter again before he stepped back to invite us in with a gesture.

  Steph made the flitter rise out of sight and we went inside. Rich looked us over individually and as a group as we stepped over the rolled-up bright purple hang glider that stretched from his kitchen into the living room.

  "Fluorescent purple?” asked Toni with a grin.

  "Believe me, it wasn't my first choice, either,” said Engles, “But it was what was available at the time."

  Engles and I began discussing the kite in detail as we unrolled it and looked over the fabric and hardware. He knew all the specs, but he sounded as if he were reciting them from a memorized list.

  I flicked a fingernail against a spar as if listening to it—right next to a serial number and manufacturer's info plate—and said, “Woo. A real live serial number. Back when I bought my first kite they didn't have those."

  Through my implant Steph said, “It was originally sold to Thomas Caputo, then of Colorado. He currently resides in Cocoa Beach and yesterday he received a check for $1800.00 from Mr. Engles. Mr. Caputo's lifestyle may have influenced his choice of colors, Ed. He's co-owner of a gay nightclub in Denver called 'The Exposition'. There's a monitoring device concealed within the central spar, by the way."

  I nodded as I chuckled and asked, “Steph, can you do something about the color?"

  Speaking aloud, Steph asked, “My choice?"

  With a grin, I said, “Of course, as long as it's a nice shade of green."

  Steph grinned back at me as she nodded, crossed her arms, and blinked. Toni chuckled and Selena laughed out loud.

  Engles simply stared at us. Well, he mostly stared at Steph. She'd gone with a mid-thigh skirt and jacket with low heeled slip-ons, all in shades of green, of course.

  Besides being a spectacularly beautiful woman, she had a posture and carriage that was—to the best of my ability to describe it—almost regal in a friendly sort of way.

  Toni's sharp intake of breath caused Engles to glance at her, then look where she was looking. He took a big step back from the hang glider in total startlement.

  The kite fabric began morphing from purple to a deep emerald green as Steph's field modified the molecular structure. Everybody watched the transformation with fascination until Engles tore his gaze
away and looked first at Steph, then at me.

  "She's ... She's doing that? Making that happen?"

  I grinned and said, “Yup. Helluva trick, isn't it?"

  "Uh. Yeah,” he mumbled, “A ... helluva trick. Yes, it is..."

  "I'll give you $1800.00 for the kite or I'll ask her to make it purple again, Rich."

  "Huh?” He looked at me for a moment and said, “But, I, uh, I was asking $2100.00"

  "Yeah, but I'm not desperate and I'm on a budget. It's only worth $1800.00 to me."

  Engles pretended to have to give the matter some thought, then he said, “I'd like some time to think about it."

  I nodded. “Okay. You'll find another buyer and I'll find another kite someday. Steph, would you be so kind as to make it purple again?"

  She grinned and nodded and the edges of the fabric started to morph back to fluorescent purple. Engles watched in anguish as the green reversed to purple for perhaps a foot or so, then he held up a hand.

  "No, wait. That won't be necessary. I'll take the $1800.00."

  "Will you take a check?"

  He nodded. “Yeah. Put your license number on it, though. My bank gets pissy about stuff like that."

  Uh, huh. Banks don't give a damn; it's up to you to collect on a bad check. He just wanted to look properly cautious.

  I wrote him a check and asked for a receipt. Engles went to the kitchen and came back with a pad of paper, then scribbled out a receipt that included the serial number from the spar.

  "Where's your new kite?” I asked him as he wrote.

  Without looking up, he said, “On base, at my office."

  I glanced at Steph. She shook her head and said through my implant, “There is no glider at his office, Ed."

  Nodding to Steph, I asked Engles, “Will they let you launch it off a building?"

  "No,” said Engles. “I'll have to go to the Wallaby Ranch below Orlando or up to TICO airport, like everybody else. I don't suppose you'll have to bother with that, though. You can launch from that flitter, can't you?"

  "That was my plan,” I said. “Steph doesn't seem to think much of that idea, though."

  He looked up and asked, “Why not?"

  I shrugged. “She thinks we ought to see if it's flyable first, but damned if I know how we'd find out something like that without flying it."