"Y'know, lady, I just love the way you assume the very worst about me at every opportunity. No, I'm saying I may not be home. If I don't answer or you haven't heard back from me within a few hours, call Linda. One way or another, I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Say goodbye to Tiger, please."
Donna's eyes fixed on Tiger, who hopped from my lap to the seat beside her and asked me, “Does Donna have to go?"
"For now, Tiger,” I said, “She can visit us again later."
That seemed to surprise Donna. She eyed me oddly and asked, “Do you mean that, or are you just saying it to spare his feelings?"
I looked back at her and answered, “Sure I meant it. When you can take what I say at face value and not try to read between lines that aren't there, let me know."
There was a pause before Donna reached to pet Tiger and said, “Goodbye, Tiger. I'll see you again sometime."
Tiger stood tall and arched into her hand as he yowled enthusiastically, “Good-very-good! Goodbye, Donna!"
Donna chuckled and said to me, “And goodbye to you, too. For now."
Nodding, I replied, “Sounds good. See you later, then."
There wasn't even a handshake. She simply stood straight and stepped off the flitter.
Tiger went to the edge of the deck and yelled, “Goodbye, Donna! Goodbye!” as we lifted. Donna turned and grinningly answered him with a wave.
When we arrived at my house, Tiger headed straight for the bathroom. I took my mug to the sink and noticed the red light flashing on my answering machine, so I sent a tendril to tap the ‘play’ button.
'Ed,’ said Alissa Masterson, ‘This is Alissa. Dan and I will be leaving for Michigan sometime this week. If you get in before ten, give us a call. I've decided to sell my bike, after all. Call me back. Bye.'
Hm. Alissa loved that bike. If she was ready to sell it, their financial situation was likely pretty dire. I called their number and Alissa answered.
"Hi, there,” I said, “I got your message. Got a departure date yet?"
"Probably Wednesday or Thursday. Are you coming over for a while?"
"Thought I might. How much for the bike?"
"Two thousand. It's a ‘92 Kawasaki Vulcan 750. It has new tires as of last week, it's just been serviced..."
She launched into a litany about the care and consideration lavished on her motorcycle and I freshened my coffee as she rattled on. Calling up a field screen, I tapped the internet icon and looked up the bike's book values.
One outfit said it was worth $2750 and the other said it was worth $2500. Both values assumed that the bike was in best-possible condition and that the seller had time to wait for someone to come along who'd cough up book value for it.
Checking trade values, I found the books in agreement; both said it was worth between $1750 and $2100. New tires and installation would range around $300. Close enough.
Alissa asked, “Ed, are you still there?"
"Yup. Just thinking. New tires, huh?"
"Yeah. They're Pirellis. Got ‘em in September. You said you might be interested, so I kind of waited until I knew for sure we wouldn't be taking it with us."
"Ma'am, are you telling me you couldn't get rid of that bike at two grand?"
She answered, “No, that's not it. Until Friday, we were going to take it with us, but we're going to need the money up there.” Sighing, she added, “Besides, we'll be staying with my mom and dad for a while and we'll be making good money again in a couple of months. I'll get a new one."
"Don't kid yourself. You'll be making about the same there as you were here and your expenses will be about double the minute you move out of your parents’ house. Could you find room on the truck for the bike if I loan you a few thousand?"
I could hear her hesitation, but she replied, “I don't think so. Thanks, anyway."
"Well, give it some more thought. It wouldn't be a big deal. See you in a few."
"Okay."
We hung up and I told Tiger where I was going as I put my checkbook in my backpack. Tiger passed on going with me; although he liked Alissa well enough, he'd never liked Dan much, and Dan had a dog.
Stepping onto the front porch, I hung my coffee mug on my left pants pocket and called up my board, then guided it over my oak tree to head southeast.
A fair-sized U-Haul truck was parked in front of Alissa's house. Dan jumped off the back of it and pulled the roll-down door closed as I drifted to a landing near the truck. When I passed in front of the streetlight, he saw my shadow sweep across the lawn and shorten as I landed and turned to watch me touch down.
Dan didn't like me. He never had, likely never would, and he didn't bother to pretend for the sake of civility. I guess that's one of the reasons we got along to a degree. There was no bullshit between us.
"Alissa's in the house,” he said, “Why the hell would you want an old motorcycle when you have something like that thing you just flew in on?"
Unholstering my coffee mug, I said, “Alissa thinks you two need the money or she wouldn't sell it."
Slapping the handle down to lock the truck's rear door, Dan said, “We can find somebody else to buy it. It doesn't have to be you."
"Dan, if she'd really wanted to sell it, it would have been gone two weeks ago. Instead, you guys are down to the wire and she called me."
He turned to face me again and snapped, “Yeah. I noticed that. Y'know, Ed, there's something I need to know before we leave town. That night she stayed at your place..."
I held up a hand and interrupted, “She slept on the couch. If you don't believe me, you'd damned well better find a way to believe her."
Dan bristled and glared. “Is that a threat?"
"No, it's a warning. If you really believed that nothing happened that night, you wouldn't have brought it up, and if you don't get your head straight about it, you might as well just get in that damned truck and leave alone, ‘cuz it's gonna rip your world apart at the seams sooner or later."
Chapter Fifty-two
I turned to walk to the house. Alissa came to the open front door as I approached and greeted me with a hug, then led me through the nearly-empty house to the garage.
She filled her shirt and jeans as well as ever and walked with a firm stride that put everything in motion. Her dark brown hair cascaded over her shoulders and flowed slightly behind her in the breeze. For a woman in her mid-thirties, she was well above par in the matter of keeping herself fit.
Alissa's black Vulcan 750 stood next to three rows of stacked cardboard boxes, all of which were marked with ‘kit', ‘bath', ‘br', and the like.
Gesturing at the boxes, Alissa said, “We'll have to rent a trailer for that stuff."
Turning away from the bike to face her, I said, “You could get a big-enough trailer, put the bike in first, and pack around it. If I was worried, I wouldn't offer you a loan."
She sighed, “A loan would just make things worse, Ed. He lost his job when they outsourced it six months ago. We wanted to stay in Florida and we thought he'd get another job pretty much right away, but that didn't happen and we had to let go of the house, and ... ah, hell, you already know the story."
Yeah, I did. I'd heard it before she'd cried herself to sleep on my couch after a night out with some girlfriends that had gone to hell. Never drink when you're already depressed; it'll make you bottom out hard, and that's what she'd done.
Sometime late in a Friday evening at a club in Ybor, it had all hit her at once. She'd simply walked out of the club. Destination unknown. Just walking because she couldn't stop.
I'd been clubbing that night, too, and when the club closed at two, I'd headed for a local all-night restaurant for a quick early breakfast.
Two cops came in as I was finishing my meal. They talked about a woman who'd disappeared around eleven. Her friends said she'd seemed upset just before she disappeared and that she wasn't the type to run off like that. Last seen heading east alone and on foot, wearing a light blue blouse and jeans.
What the hell. I'd slept all day and I'd be up all night anyway, so I called the flitter and had it pull the police report for more info, then send probes ahead of us in an easterly direction.
We found her almost eight miles from the club, sitting in semi-darkness on the back steps of a building. Her feet were blistered and bleeding and she was crying hard as she blotted them with tissues.
Her crying had wakened some guy who'd constructed a shelter of sorts behind a dumpster. He looked around, spotted her, and seemed to consider matters for a moment before he climbed out of his shelter and stood up.
When he started toward her, Alissa hurriedly tried to cram her feet back into her pumps. No way. They were too swollen and sore. She picked up her purse and shoes and started toward the mouth of the alley barefoot. Not a good idea. Half a dozen steps later, she stepped on something that made her freeze and cry out with pain.
"Flitter,” I said, “Drop down beside her, please, between her and the guy coming toward her."
As the flitter's field enveloped Alissa, we became visible to her. For a moment she looked as if she'd forget about her foot injury and run, but theta waves calmed her down some.
"Hi, there,” I said, “Unless you'd rather visit an emergency room about that foot, there's a drug store about six blocks away. If you want a ride, hop aboard."
She hesitated, glancing past me at the approaching bum, then she placed a knee on the edge of the deck and kind of rolled aboard to end up sitting with her right leg folded under her as she stared around at me and the flitter.
We lifted out of the alley and she quickly scurried to the nearest seat on her hands and knees, then climbed into it. I had the flitter dip down to let me off in front of the drug store, then hover fifty feet above it as I went in for medical supplies.
House brand throat spray killed the pain enough that I could clean and dress Alissa's cuts, abrasions, and blisters without causing her too much discomfort.
When I produced a pair of blue, fuzzy bunny slippers from the shopping bag, she snorted a giggle that sounded just the slightest bit hysterical.
Applying a big Band-Aid to the bottom of her foot, I said mock-defensively, “Well, I'm so sorry, lady! They didn't have pink ones and these were on sale for a buck."
After I put the slippers on her feet, she wiggled them to watch the ears flap and snickered, then laughed, but the laughter soon morphed into more sobbing.
Hm. I didn't want to hear her story right then and she didn't seem ready to tell it, so I called the cops on the console screen and told them their missing woman was on her way home. Alissa's sobs lessened and quieted as she stared at the console.
Once I'd finished reporting in, I told the flitter to head for home.
Alissa sniffled and asked, “Home?"
"Yup. In Spring Hill. You can crash on my couch if you'll make breakfast.” Turning to look at her, I added, “Unless you'd rather go somewhere else, of course. Like your home, maybe?"
She shook her head firmly and blotted her nose. “No. Your couch will be fine. Are you sure your wife or girlfriend won't mind?"
Rooting in the cooler, I offered her a can of tea and said, “My girlfriend lives in Inverness."
Her eyebrow went up as she asked, “Isn't that a little inconvenient?"
Sipping my coffee, I answered, “Nope. She's in college. Her place is closer to Gainesville."
She shot back, “How come you're not with her tonight?"
I chuckled, “Because someone else is—someone named Margaret—and because Margaret hates men."
Alissa stopped sipping tea and stared at me. “You mean..? Your girlfriend's bi?"
"You got it. Margaret's switching to another college next week, so this weekend they're having a kind of private going-away party."
Looking very dubious, Alissa said, “Uh, maybe I should..."
Holding up a hand, I said, “Flitter, ping Toni's datapad, please.” To Alissa, I said, “If they're still up—and they probably are—she'll answer."
They were. Toni's face and a view of the kitchen behind her filled the console. Her eyebrow went up as she spotted Alissa, then she grinned as she said, “Hi, Ed. What's up, or need I even ask? Who's your very cute little friend, there?"
"My cute friend is Alissa. She had a little trouble this evening and she'll be crashing on my couch tonight."
Grinning, Toni said, “Aw, too bad. Margie's flying out at noon tomorrow. Think you can get here for lunch around one?"
"Well, ma'am, ordinarily I'd have to check my schedule, of course, but if you're on the menu, I'd be happy to cancel the rest of my many appointments and make a special trip."
Still grinning, Toni answered, “Oh, I'm definitely on your menu. I'm under ‘rubyfruit desserts'."
A naked, well-structured blonde woman walked into the scene behind Toni and opened the fridge to get something. She took a sip from a soft drink bottle, then turned to face us, the nipples of her hefty breasts pointing directly at the screen.
Margaret's expression was deliberately bland as she said, “It's kind of late to be calling people, Ed."
I sighed and said, “Well, maybe so, Marge, but getting a look at your outstanding chest sure as hell made it worthwhile. It really hurts me that you're a diehard lesbian, y'know."
She rolled her eyes and muttered, “Yeah, yeah,” sipped her drink again, stepped forward to firmly plant a kiss on Toni's shoulder, and headed back to the bedroom.
Toni grinningly raised a hand and flapped her fingers in a little ‘bye-bye’ wave, then poked a finger at her ‘off’ icon. Alissa stared at the blank screen for a moment, then looked at me as we descended into my driveway.
"Oookaaay,” she said slowly, “Well, that was interesting. I guess I can believe she won't be too upset about me."
"Nah. But she'll probably be disappointed when I don't bring you along tomorrow.” Alissa's left eyebrow went up, but she said nothing. I added, “Apologies if necessary, ma'am. I prefer having her all to myself."
With a little shrug, Alissa muttered, “Uh ... no problem. I'm not into that sort of thing."
After she'd gotten over Tiger's greeting, I'd offered her the use of the bedroom, but she'd declined and insisted the couch would be good enough.
Saturday morning, the sounds of cooking woke me around nine. During breakfast, Alissa admitted that she also lived in Spring Hill and said she'd call a friend to pick her up.
I offered to drop her off on my way to Inverness if she could stick around, but she said she had some things to do in a tone that made me think someone would catch a little hell later.
Alissa didn't offer to talk about her problems and I didn't ask her about them. When we'd finished breakfast, she called for a ride and left half an hour later.
She'd showed up on her bike a few times since then. Tiger had been fascinated by the machine and Alissa had once taken him for a short, slow ride on her lap. His fascination had evaporated after that; something about riding on a motorcycle made him uncomfortable.
Dan raised the garage door from the outside, peering under it as it went up as if he expected to catch us doing something other than eyeballing the Kawasaki.
Alissa straddled the bike and started it, revving it only slightly as she watched the tachometer. Her obvious reluctance to let go of the bike seemed to make Dan edgy. He came to stand beside me and asked if I had the money with me.
Stiffening, Alissa glared at him. I asked her if the bike still had a current tag and insurance. She nodded and said, “Yes."
"Good. Grab the title, books, and any gear that goes with it and ride it over to my house. Since it's your last ride on a bike for a while, feel free to take as long as you want to get there. I'll bring you back on the flitter."
Turning to Dan, I said, “Later, guy,” and called up my board. With a little wave to Alissa, I flitted out of the garage and lifted to five hundred feet to hover above the house.
Chapter Fifty-three
I sat on my board sipping coffee for about
ten minutes before Alissa rolled out of the garage and down the driveway. She wore a backpack and a helmet that she took a moment to adjust before she revved the Vulcan and got her final ride on the bike underway.
At the end of her street she turned right, and when she reached County Line Road she turned right again. I hadn't been sure she'd do that, but it had seemed likely; both the Veteran's Expressway and I-75 lay in that direction.
She stopped at a gas station near the Expressway and tanked up, then took off again, accelerating past the Expressway entrance. At US-41, she headed north to SR-50, then turned east, gunning the bike forward into the darkness.
At I-75, Alissa opened the throttle again and blasted up the northbound on-ramp, merging quickly and matching the speed of other traffic while she was still in third gear. She leaned left a bit to sideslip into the outside lane and I saw the slight surge when she put the bike in fourth gear, then fifth, and leveled her speed at about seventy for the next couple of miles.
As the city limit sign flashed by, Alissa glanced around, sat tall in the saddle for a look ahead, and then she gunned the bike up to around one hundred miles per hour and held it there, charging past other vehicles for nearly five minutes.
Just before the county line sign, she backed down to about sixty and cruised until she reached the Rutland exit, where she headed west on SR-44.
When she reached US-19, Alissa turned south for what seemed likely to be the last leg of her journey to my house. She pulled into a nearby gas station and convenience store, where she parked the bike by the gas pumps and went into the store.
I settled beside the bike to examine it for leaks and such. There were none. Lifting away from the bike, I returned to five hundred feet and watched for Alissa.
A few moments later, she took a seat at a short counter by a corner window and sat looking at her motorcycle as she sipped a drink. Since it seemed likely she'd be there a while, I took a seat on my board and got comfortable.
Fifteen minutes or so passed before Alissa sipped her drink and set the cup down in a firm manner, then headed for the store's doors with her helmet under her left arm. At the bike, she hung her helmet on the sissy bar, waved at the counter clerk, watched the pump for a moment, then lifted the pump handle and put some gas into the bike's tank.
3rd World Products, Inc. Book 7 Page 30