3rd World Products, Inc. Book 7

by Ed Howdershelt

  Returning her grin, I said, “That was good of him."

  Chuckling, “Yes, wasn't it?” she put the coffee pot back, placed the coffee in front of me, and went to the fridge.

  I sent a cooling field into my coffee and sniffed as I watched her study the fridge's contents. The coffee smelled great, of course; the full, rich scent wafted up from the cup and I knew that—if I drank the whole cup at that hour—regular brewed coffee would turn my guts into a pit of acid. Oh, well. I sipped a little of it anyway. It tasted as good as it smelled.

  Donna leaned to choose the last can of Long Island Iced Tea from the fridge, set it on the counter and threw the cardboard carrier away, and reached into a cabinet for a glass.

  With graceful, controlled motions, she snapped four cubes of ice out of a freezer tray and put them in the glass, then popped the top on the can and poured the booze into the glass.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  At first I thought I'd just had too long a day. I rubbed my eyes and looked again, but the cloudy discoloration was still there, toward the bottom of her glass, and it seemed to be clearing up as I watched. Soap residue? Unlikely.

  "Don't drink that,” I said, and Donna turned slightly to give me a questioning glance as she continued pouring.

  "Flitter, check the contents of Donna's glass and tea can, please. Let us know if you find anything that isn't melted ice or an ingredient for Long Island Iced Tea as mentioned on the can's label. Put the results on a screen."

  Donna stopped pouring and stared at me for a moment, saw I was serious, and put the glass on the counter. Looking at the can in her other hand, she put that down, too.

  A field screen appeared as before on the kitchen table. The list of ingredients in Donna's glass included gamma butyrolactone, the line for which was highlighted.

  Donna stared at the words on the screen for a moment, then her gaze moved to her glass as her left hand moved to her mouth. She looked as if she might become ill.

  I said, “Flitter, check the ice cubes in the fridge, please. I don't think you'll find anything but water, but it won't hurt to be sure."

  "You are correct, Ed. The ice is composed only of water."

  "Then Karen—or Blaine—must have put the GHB in the glass and let it dry. Check the other glasses, please. I just want to be sure."

  "One other glass is so tainted, Ed. It's the one on your left."

  "Thanks, flitter. You're a marvel of technology."

  Donna looked at her tea can and said, “Maybe I should give Miller another call and ask him to bring a drug test kit."

  "He'll call for one if he doesn't take the glass for a print match. The flitter said the can's clean, if you're still thirsty."

  "Ah ... maybe in a minute. How did you know..?"

  "Splotches around the bottom of the glass. I thought it was my eyes at first, but the splotches disappeared while I watched you pour. I just thought it might be smart to check."

  Pointing, she asked, “What about your coffee cup?"

  Blink. She was right. What happened to GHB in hot liquid? No idea. My nanobots could deal with the stuff, but if she or Miller drank any...

  "Flitter, check the coffee and the coffee cups, too, please."

  "They contain no foreign substances, Ed."

  "Thanks, flitter. I meant what I said. You're a marvel. Remember that and remind me if I don't tell you once a week."

  "Yes, Ed."

  Donna snickered, then laughed. Sitting down, she laughed again, but her laugh had an edge of hysteria to it and her eyes remained focused on the glass.

  "Hey, Donna."

  She turned her head to look at me. I pointed at her tea can.

  "Take a big slug of your fancy tea, suck in a deep breath, and relax. Then haul up your socks and get ready to watch me try to explain flitters, field screens, and fancy murder theories to a cop who isn't Detective Greer."

  For a moment she just looked at me, then she grinned and I heard a low, “Heh, heh, heh, heh."

  Giving her a flat look, I asked, “You think that's funny, huh?"

  "Heh, heh, heh, heh. Yeah, I do. Heh, heh, heh, heh."

  The doorbell rang and Donna's face changed to one of puzzlement as she asked, “Already?"

  "Could be,” I said, getting to my feet, “Stand by one and I'll find out."

  As I headed for the front door, she said, “Be careful,” and reached into a kitchen drawer to produce what looked like an issue-style Beretta 9mm.

  She started to jack the slide back, and not knowing if she was about to look for brass in the chamber or load a round, I held up a hand.

  "Quiet for now. If it's her, you'll have time to rack it."

  Donna nodded and moved to stand by the door frame as I continued to the door.

  "Flitter,” I said, “Who's at the door?"

  "Karen Rodman rang the doorbell, Ed, but she moved to the corner of the garage immediately thereafter."

  "How come you didn't let me know she was here?"

  "You gave me no such instructions."

  "I...” I thought about it. No, I'd told the flitter to station probes until we got here. Damn. My fault. “Yeah. Okay. What's she doing? Show me on a screen."

  The screen popped into being and showed Karen kneeling beside the high front bumper of the SUV. She was wearing a jacket and mid-thigh skirt ensemble suitable for a legal office and uncaringly showing a helluva lot of her lovely legs as she aimed a big black pistol at the front door in a two-handed grip.

  I admired the view for a moment, then said, “Stun her, flitter. Don't let her land too hard, please."

  On the screen, Karen suddenly toppled over, the pistol in her still-gripping hands hitting the deep carpet of grass at about the same time as her head gently came to rest on the lawn.

  Beyond the SUV and well up the street, headlights quickly turned onto Dwyer Lane and the car they belonged to hurried our direction.

  Turning to wave at Donna, I said, “I think the cavalry's about to arrive. Karen's out cold on the lawn with a gun, so ditch the Beretta before he gets here."

  She nodded and set the gun back in the drawer, then sipped her tea and seemed undecided about what to do next. I left her to work it out and continued watching the oncoming car.

  It pulled into the driveway and a man in a suit quickly got out to cautiously approach Karen. Spotting her gun, he drew his own pistol and edged around her to kick her gun out of her hands, then he tried to rouse her.

  I sent another stun at her to keep her asleep as he reached under his coat for a small radio and called in a sitrep. Whatever someone told him made him nod as he signed off and put the radio away.

  Within a couple of minutes, another car roared down Dwyer Lane and slid to a halt on the pavement just beyond Donna's swale. A uniform got out and went jogging over to the guy in the suit.

  The two held a hurried conference, the uniform used his handcuffs on Karen and called in, then he stayed by her as the suit headed for Donna's front door, his gun still in his hand as he reached for the doorbell.

  Poking the intercom button before he could touch the doorbell, I asked, “Are you Detective Miller?"

  He froze, glancing around as he moved to one side of the door and answered, “Yes. That's me. Who's this?"

  "I'm Ed, a friend of Donna's. She's in the kitchen. I just watched you post that uniform with Karen and I'd prefer not to get shot tonight, so take it easy on your way in."

  After a moment, he said, “Yeah. Okay."

  "Okay. I'll open the door for you."

  He seemed pretty tense as he flattened against the faux-brick wall with his pistol pointed at the door. I leaned on the wall just beyond the door frame and reached to snap the lock and turn the doorknob.

  As expected, the door was sharply shoved open and Miller aimed his pistol at me. He saw my coffee cup and ordered me to put it down. I shrugged and set it on a nearby glass table, then set a short piece of junk mail on top of it.

  From there it was routine. He check
ed me for weapons, found my belt knife and took it, and told me to lead the way to the kitchen, where he saw Donna standing by the table. After checking her for weapons, he told us to sit down and produce ID, and he called in about us.

  Like a kid in school, I raised a hand and clearly enunciated, “Detective Greer."

  With a somewhat confused look, Miller asked, “What? My name's Miller. You knew that at the door."

  "Yeah, but my friend's name is Greer. Up in Hernando County. Can you reach him at this hour?"

  More vehicles arrived out front as he said, “I could. Tell me why I should."

  "Because we have a lot to tell you that may sound a little fantastic and I don't want to spend all night going through a lot of hoops and barrels with people who don't know me. Greer can back me up."

  Miller eyed me tightly and said, “Tell you what, sport; if your story starts getting too deep, we can call him then."

  I looked at Donna and said, “I thought you said he was one of the good guys. Flitter, land in Donna's front yard, please. Use your opaque hull field."

  "What? What did you just say?” snapped Miller.

  "It just started getting deep,” I replied, “You may want to make that call to Greer now."

  Somebody outside yelled, “Oh, holy shit!” and someone else yelled for people to “Get clear! Get clear!"

  Looking at Miller, I asked, “You wanna look like the only cool head in the herd? Go out there and tell them to settle down. It's just my flitter landing in the yard. It won't hurt anyone."

  Instead of leaving, he used his radio. A couple of the deputies knew they were looking at a flitter and said so. Miller looked narrowly at me.

  "You say it's yours. Prove it."

  Nodding, I said, “Flitter, glow neon red, please."

  There were more shouts outside and brilliant red light burst into the house through windows and the still-open front door.

  "Flitter, stop glowing now, please."

  The red light ceased instantly. Miller continued his wary stare at me for a moment, then said, “Let's go out front."

  Donna and I stood up and walked ahead of him toward the still-open front door. A deputy there glanced away from the flitter, saw the three of us coming, and moved aside.

  Someone had removed the junk mail card from my coffee cup and—of course—there was a moth fluttering around in it. Damn. I slung the coffee into the bushes beyond the porch, put the cup back on the table, and followed Miller and Donna into the front yard.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  A dozen or so deputies and an ambulance crew stood in and around Donna's yard. A red and white ambulance was parked on the swale and a fire truck sat some distance behind several cop cars in the street. Karen Rodman sat quietly in the back seat of the second cop car, staring as hard as everyone else at the flitter hovering a foot or so above Donna's lawn.

  Her head turned sharply as she noticed Donna coming out of the enclosed front porch, and it seemed to me that she yelled something as her eyes narrowed to slits of hatred.

  She began struggling against her cuffs. Her struggle became frenzied thrashing that actually rocked the car; not an easy thing to do, given the sort of suspension on a cop car.

  Her head suddenly struck the passenger door window and she seemed dazed for a moment, then she rolled on her back and kicked at the window.

  I considered stunning her again, but it seemed to me that the cops ought to see her in full form before I tried to convince them she was a homicidal nutcase who'd swapped identities in order to track down someone she believed had somehow wronged her years ago.

  Miller was saying something, but I didn't catch it as I watched Karen slam her feet against the glass. Her third kick shattered the window, then she kicked the glass out and sat up to lean through the opening and scream.

  It was a heartfelt, rending scream of rage and fury that lasted three full seconds, then she repeated it twice as a couple of deputies—one of them a woman—went to the car to try to settle her down.

  Karen must have worked her hands around to her front during her frenzied kicking. As the male deputy approached, she screamed at him and seemed to retreat into the car slightly as she sucked in breath for another scream.

  The female deputy actually advised him not to get too close as she took out her pepper spray and readied it, but the male deputy moved forward with his hands raised toward Karen in what he probably thought was a calming manner.

  With speed that a rattlesnake might well envy, Karen's cuffed hands shot out of the car and latched onto the deputy's left hand. His right hand instantly grabbed her wrist—for what purpose I have no idea—and Karen took that opportunity to rear back like a champion rower near the finish line.

  The deputy was hauled head-first into the car through the window, his plunge halted only when the gear on his belt hung up on the window's frame.

  Karen's legs flashed up and clamped around him and the Glock that had been on his right hip was suddenly in her left hand, the muzzle shoved hard under his jaw as she grinningly screamed again, this time right in his ear.

  Hm. Not good. When she'd aimed at the front door and had no immediate target, the stun had time to knock her completely out before she could think to pull the trigger on general principles. With the gun buried in the deputy's neck, she might be able to take advantage of that split-second before unconsciousness to fire.

  Something scrabbled across the walkway; one of those inch-and-a-half long Florida cockroaches was hauling ass for the cover of the grass on the other side of the concrete.

  I sent a field tendril to immobilize the cockroach as I whispered, “Three suit on,” and field-suspended the bug ahead of me as I quietly walked toward the car.

  Changing the field to grip only two of the bug's hind legs, I sent it toward the car's window, where it latched onto the upper window frame, spread its body-length wings, and noisily shook itself to try to get loose.

  Karen's eyes widened as she stared up at it. Uh, huh. Thought so. Not being from Florida, she'd never seen bugs that size before. I urged the cockroach forward along the ceiling of the car until it was suspended directly above her face.

  The bug obligingly spread its wings and rattled again. I pulled at it until the poor bug was hanging on by only its front two legs. Karen shrieked, removed the Glock from the deputy's neck, aimed it at the unfortunate cockroach, and fired twice.

  My stun knocked her cold as the gun went off a second time. I backed away from the car as two deputies who'd crawled up next to the car quickly hauled their buddy out of the window.

  Other deputies edged quickly up to the car with their guns aimed at the back seat. The female deputy briefly studied Karen's inert form, then quickly opened the car's door and leaned into the car to press her gun hard against Karen's stomach as she reached to grab the Glock from Karen's hand.

  Returning to my position by the house's front door, I stood behind the porch roof's supporting column, whispered, “Three suit off,” and stepped over to stand by Donna.

  As some of the deputies eyed the holes in the roof of the squad car and wondered what the hell Karen had been shooting at, others who'd been closer told them about the cockroach.

  Someone suggested that they should try to find the pieces and give it a hero's funeral and someone else taunted the deputy who'd been stuck in the window.

  "Man, you weren't gonna get out of there alive. Not a chance in hell! You're probably the only man in the world who's had his ass saved by a goddamned cockroach!"

  And so on. Some were very cop-like, eyeing the scene and saying little as they added restraints to Karen, while others let their relief out in teasing jibes at the rescuee.

  I reached to tap Miller on the shoulder. When he turned, I thumbed at the front door and said, “There's coffee in there. I want some. Do you need me out here?"

  Glancing around, he shook his head and sighed, “No. Go ahead. I'll be along in a minute."

  His answer told me that Donna and I were no long
er the center of his attention. I picked up my cup from the table as I entered the house and rinsed it before pouring myself another cup of coffee.

  From behind me, Donna said, “I'll have one, too,” and she came to the counter to reach for another cup.

  Glancing back toward the kitchen doorway, she whispered, “I saw that cockroach fly from the sidewalk to the car.” Looking at me meaningfully, she added, “Except it didn't fly. I mean, it didn't use its wings. It just floated to the car."

  Taking my coffee to the table, I sat down and asked, “You say it just ... ‘floated', huh?"

  Donna stopped in the middle of filling her cup, set the pot down, and turned to face me, her irritation very evident as she hissed, “Oh, don't even pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. I looked around for you, Ed. To point it out to you. You weren't there."

  She seemed pretty certain about it, so I didn't question the point. I didn't answer at all, in fact, electing instead to sip my coffee and look toward the front door as if looking for Miller.

  Sitting down across from me and leaning close, Donna met my gaze and hissed, “I know you put that roach in the car."

  In a thick Texas accent, I replied, “Well, y'all just go ahead an’ try ta prove that, ma'am. Ol’ Karen done blowed the only evidence they wuz ta smithereens.” Hand over heart, I piously added, “Pore lil’ sucker oughta get a medal, y'know?"

  Donna gave me a droll look and tried to pretend she was unamused for a moment before she snickered, “Smithereens? I haven't heard anyone use that word for a long while."

  Sipping coffee, I said, “Careful. You're dating yourself."

  "Oh, up yours. Once all these cops are out of here, I want..."

  Miller walked in with a tap on the door and asked, “What about ‘when all these cops are out of here'?"

  Sitting back in her chair, Donna sipped coffee in silence. Miller looked at me.

  "I dunno,” I said, “If I'm lucky, she'll get me drunk and have her way with me."

  "What?!” yelped Donna. “I can't believe ... !"

  She didn't finish her sentence, but she flipped her spoon at me. It bounced off my chest and clattered to the floor.