by Gini Koch
“Find anyone?” I asked White as I waved to the humans and petted all the dogs. Considering my dress wasn’t wrecked—for possibly the first time ever—getting dog fur on it wouldn’t be a big deal. Chose to count it in the win column, even. That was me, crazed with optimism.
“No. I believe I looked at every man here, Missus Martini. If Trevor was here, I couldn’t recognize him. I also heard no one that sounded like the voice from the recording.”
We’d figured out who the Tinkerer was based on a video message that showed me being maimed and tortured. Only it was a Kitty-Bot and therefore fake. But White had recognized the speech patterns of the man who was doing that video’s voiceover. However, the last time he’d seen or even thought of Trevor had been decades ago, and he’d presumed the man dead for that long. That he couldn’t spot this guy wasn’t all that shocking.
“Bummer.”
White sighed. “And we couldn’t find Doctor Rattoppare, though others said they’d seen or met him.”
“So he was avoiding you?” Certainly felt like he’d been avoiding me.
“Who knows? He may not be giving it a second thought. There were a great number of people, the majority of which I’ve never met before, and I even missed your trying out for a pitching position with the Nationals.”
“My heart belongs to the Diamondbacks, as would my baseball skills.”
“As you wish. What did you discover and what else did I miss?”
“Not much.” Filled him in fast on what had gone down. “Where’s Camilla?” I asked as I wrapped up.
“Following a lead. She felt that the Dealers of Death were interesting.”
“That makes one of us.”
White chuckled. “Since she and I had no luck discovering who Doctor Rattoppare is, I agreed it was a better use of her time.”
“Live and Let Die” by Paul McCartney & Wings came on. So we still had someone doing the music, and Algar wanted me paying attention.
The K-9 squad was done with their close-up, but before we could escape, the Kristie-Bot suggested that it was time for Jeff to do an interview. She included Mrs. Paster and Yamaguchi in this, meaning that Jeff didn’t have a good way to get out of it.
Now might be the time to search for the DJ, since I definitely wanted to be able to say whether he or she was with us or had left—and if I wasn’t around, then Good Day USA! couldn’t interview me again.
Knew I needed to go with someone else, and that meant White or Gower, because who we were actually looking for was Algar or whomever he’d put into place. Gower was nearer to Jeff, and White was right here. Besides, he was my partner in butt-kicking.
Tugged on White’s sleeve as he handed the dogs back and took Prince’s lead from Melville. “Borrowing my best protector for a moment.” Melville rolled his eyes but didn’t protest, and I headed back inside, White with me.
“Where are you going?” Phoebe asked as we stepped through the doorway.
Managed not to jump or scream, but it took effort. “To give the person handling music the heads-up that we’re about to leave.”
She sighed. “I’m going with you.”
Waved the leash. “I have Prince, and Mister White. Stay here in case of anything.”
“Before you argue,” White said, “let me say one word—hyperspeed.”
Phoebe heaved a sigh. “If I didn’t like you all so much, I’d really hate this job. Don’t be gone long, and scream or call for help. Please.”
“Will do.” White offered me his arm, which I took. “So, Mister White, where to?”
“The one place no one’s gone, Missus Martini. Upstairs.”
“There’s an upstairs?”
“Yes, for specialized lighting, music, and such. One additional story, low ceilings, limited roof access. Charles had it searched before you arrived and there were guards at the door. Anyone up there was approved to be there, and only those approved could go in or out.”
“Approved by whom? Because Mrs. Paster didn’t sound like she’d ordered someone to spin the tunes, because if she had, she’d have fired them, from what I can tell. And it’s not like the lights have gone up or down in the entire time we’ve been here.”
“I don’t know. Camilla seemed to feel that all was well.”
As we reached the door, which was between the bathrooms, the music changed to the Don Henley version of “New York Minute.” Was pretty sure this was a warning, since the song dealt with how fast things could change. “Where are the guards?”
“Perhaps they went with the others. Everyone is out with Jeffrey on the patio.”
“Huh.”
“I know that tone. Is it catsuit time, Missus Martini?”
“I believe that it is, Mister White. I truly believe that it is.”
Let go of his arm and handed him Prince’s leash. Got my Glock out of my clutch and tucked said clutch under my arm.
With that, I nodded and White opened the door.
CHAPTER 74
“WELL, THAT WAS ANTICLIMACTIC.”
The door led us into a short hallway with stairs at the end. There was no one and nothing else.
Prince took the lead, sniffing up a storm. Took his leash from White, who produced a gun from inside his suit jacket and indicated he’d bring up the rear.
“I am so proud,” I whispered as we started off, half of the Scooby-Doo team in action. Wasn’t sure if that made me Velma or Daphne, but White was clearly Freddy, because I could totally picture him in an ascot and he didn’t have the eat-everything stoner vibe Shaggy did.
“I prefer to learn from experience, unlike Jeffrey and Christopher who like to repeat their mistakes for fun.”
“You rock as always, Mister White.” Thusly amusing ourselves, we headed up the stairs as quietly as possible.
The bathrooms were near to the kitchen area, but couldn’t smell anything in here, good or bad, and it didn’t feel hot, so the insulation was spot on. Couldn’t hear the music in the hallway or on the stairs, either. However, as we reached the top and exited into what looked like a big room with an open floor plan, could just hear the last strains of “New York Minute” ending. Only there was also applause. Meaning Algar had played The Eagles’ version of the song, too.
That was a different form of repeat than he normally used. Wasn’t sure why, but it made me extra alert. Maybe because this version of the song was from their Hell Freezes Over live album, recorded during the reunion tour they’d vowed would never happen. Wrapped Prince’s leash around my hand several times—didn’t want him getting too far ahead of me.
It was dark—lit but with very low wattage bulbs and not that many of them. Since the little hallway and the stairs had been decently lighted, this, like the rest of what was going on, boded.
“Hello Kitty” by Avril Lavigne blasted out. The three of us jumped, it was so startling. Would have lost my hold on Prince if I hadn’t had the leash so well wrapped. As we landed, a man appeared out of the darkness. He was wearing a waiter’s uniform.
As he got closer, realized it was the waiter I’d noted before, the one who’d taken the spiked punch to Jeff and the others onstage. He stopped walking a few feet away from us.
“Excuse me, but we’re looking for the DJ.” Hey, had to say something. “And, um, the party’s over. You can go home now.”
“Oh, I can never truly go home.”
Due to how we’d all jumped and landed, White was standing next to me, and I felt him stiffen. “It’s been a very long time,” he said calmly.
“Oh, Richard, Richard, Richard. It honestly hasn’t been long enough.” The waiter stepped closer to us. “Hello, Kitty, Kitty. You’re so pretty, pretty.”
“Trevor Rattoppare, I presume?” Knew White was ready to run. I was, too, but saw no weapons on Trevor, and White and I were both holding guns. So perhaps running wasn’t necessary.
Yet. “You like this song enough to repeat the lyrics?”
He shrugged. “It was effective.”
“Nothing else you did tonight was.”
He chuckled and stepped closer. Prince growled. Trevor did not smell right. He smelled like Kristie-Bot. Not a surprise. “No, I suppose not. But it was instructive. And I’ve been waiting to meet you. I thought the song was quite a nice touch.”
“How so?” It was time for my time-honored technique of Keeping The Bad Guys Monologuing For Fun, Profit, and Longevity. “On any of that, nice touches and instructions and all that jazz.”
“I enjoyed watching you work. A little roll. Who would think to throw that?”
“Um, you mean, besides me? I’m sure many people.”
“I’m not.”
“I was looking for you all night,” White said. “How did I miss you? I examined the waitstaff because some of us try to only make a mistake once.” So, White remembered Operation Drug Addict, too. Not that I thought anyone had forgotten, but it was good to know he paid attention to all my recaps.
“I know.” Trevor took his waiter’s jacket off, while both White and I pointed our guns at him. He chuckled. “Oh, you two can relax. I don’t do the violence.”
“I’ll bet you have people for that. People who enjoy doing ‘the violence’ and would like to perpetrate it on us.”
Trevor turned his jacket inside out and put it back on. He was suddenly an average man in a nice tuxedo. “It was simple. Any time you were too near to me, I went into the kitchen or a restroom, reversed my jacket, and came back out. No one noticed, and I avoided you and that school employee easily.”
Good to know that Camilla had fooled him. Another one for the win column was always nice. Rare, too.
“That doesn’t mean you don’t have accomplices lurking about, waiting to strike,” White pointed out.
“What Mister White said. To the tenth degree. At least.”
“Such worrying. No one is up here other than the three of us.” Prince growled. “Excuse me. The four of us.”
“There’s a DJ up here,” I said. “Somewhere. That’s why we came upstairs—to find him or her and tell them it was time to go home.”
Trevor chuckled again, only longer and with a lot more emphasis. “Oh, that’s charming. You are certainly a hands-on First Lady. No, there’s no one else here. The music is being controlled from elsewhere.”
“It is? By whom? And where?”
“I have no idea. But there’s no one else here. I checked.” Avril stopped singing and no other music came on. If I strained, I could just make out what sounded like instrumental music playing in the ballroom below us. “The music ceased after the last song, so I assume your elusive DJ has discovered that it’s closing time.”
“Then who played the “Hello Kitty” song?”
Trevor held out his phone and the song started up again. It was still hella loud. He stopped it. “I did.”
Meaning Algar had put the music on hold or the DJ was dead. It was possible Trevor was telling the truth, of course. Only one way to find out. “Mister White, if you would? Just to be sure and all.”
“It would be my pleasure, Missus Martini.” He zipped off. Leaving me to wonder just where Algar had set up musical shop and who with, and why, despite all of this and the current situation, Trevor didn’t seem remotely threatening.
“Richard’s aged quite well.”
Music started again, at the normal volume it had been all evening, “Live Forever” by Oasis. Wondered who or what White was going to find. Or had already found.
“So have you. I mean, you should look as old as the Crypt Keeper, and yet you actually look younger than Mister White does.”
He shrugged. “I never had children. They age you.”
“Wow, that’s your story and you’re planning to stick with it? Dude, we know about the Treatment. And I’m pretty damn sure you’ve done the Treatment on yourself.”
“Of course I have. You’ll do it, too. Eventually.”
“I doubt it.”
“I don’t. The opportunity to live forever, to protect and serve forever? You and Jeffrey won’t be able to resist the lure.”
“I’ll bet that we will. But then again, are you so certain because you plan to force us into it? All of us?”
White returned. “Trevor is correct—I didn’t see anyone else up here. Meaning we’ll still have to find the DJ, though obviously at another time.”
“Huh. Trevor was just saying that we’ll give in and do the Treatment.”
“And Kitty—may I call you Kitty?”
“Go for it.”
“Kitty and I were discussing her understandable concern that I would try to force the Treatment upon you all.”
“We saw the wire boards and the plans,” White said, sarcasm knob easily at nine on the scale. “We rescued several of our people just in time. We’re all fairly certain you plan to murder us and put robots of some kind in our places. You’ve already set that precedent.”
“Cyborgs,” Trevor said in that Schoolteacher Nicely Correcting A Student way.
“Excuse me?” White asked politely.
“Cyborgs. That’s what Kristie has become. And, as you rightly guessed, Zachary and Charmaine.” Trevor smiled at me. “I realized you’d figured it out when I saw you on Good Day USA! yesterday morning. Kristie was quite out of turn with her little act.”
“Awesome. I’d figured out that something was wrong with Kristie. Cyborgs is a new one, but it makes sense.” Yay! I could call them cyborgs to everyone now. It was the little things you cherished, after all. “We don’t want to be cyborgs, thank you very much, despite Kristie swearing by the Cyborg Lifestyle and your particular genius with the wiring.”
“That’s very sweet of her. Perhaps I won’t have her meet with an unfortunate accident.”
“You’d better not.” Said as calmly as I could manage.
“Well, we shall see. Again, I believe you’ll change your minds about the Treatment. Eventually. Richard might as well. When age catches up, as it appears to be doing.”
White shrugged. “Aging isn’t the worst thing in the world.”
“You know, your father said the very same thing to me, when he refused the Treatment. Of course, it was still experimental and, frankly, with that superbeing inside of him, the Treatment probably wouldn’t have worked. He didn’t fear dying, your father. He feared not getting to complete his plans, but not dying.”
“Oh, bullshit.”
Trevor’s turn to look shocked, as the music changed to “She’s Electric,” meaning Algar was potentially now on an Oasis kick. Or that he was sharing that all the cyborgs had to plug in like they were Priuses to recharge. Really, either option seemed sound.
“Excuse me?” He sounded shocked.
“You heard me. Ronald Yates wanted to live forever. He had his whole Yates Gene crap going and then some. I mean, seriously, name someone in the League of Extraordinary Genius Monkeys who doesn’t?”
Trevor stared at me. Then he started to laugh. “Oh, if only he’d lived to meet you.”
“He did. I killed him. Well, really, Mephistopheles killed him. I killed Mephistopheles.”
“I know. I meant meet you in this way. As a peer. As someone to get to know.”
White and I let this remark sit on the air a bit. “Um . . . did you just call me your peer?”
“I did, yes. And Ronald’s peer. Richard’s improved greatly under your tutelage as well.”
“Dude, I don’t mean to be rude, but are you high?”
He laughed again. “No, but oh how I wish she’d understood that you would have made the best ally.”
“She. You mean Stephanie, your new ‘granddaughter’ Stephanie, the real heir to the Ronald Yates Throne Stephanie?” Then again, maybe the musical clue was that Stephani
e had had the Treatment already. Or Algar was giving me an Atta Girl. Decided not to care and just enjoy the song.
“I do indeed. She’s a headstrong girl, and sometimes she doesn’t listen. Her great-grandfather was the same.”
“She’s a wacked-out bitch with severe Daddy Issues who’s all about blaming everyone else for the things that have gone wrong in her life while simultaneously using and being used by every man she meets. So, just to be clear, we’re talking about the same person?”
“We are and, I must confess, you have outlined her weaknesses rather well. And his.”
“Go me, I feel all tingly. Look, what’s your game? It’s late and I have little kids to get home to and a bigger kid to put to bed.” Several bigger kids. All of Stephanie’s siblings. Really hoped this wasn’t an elaborate ruse to snatch them out from under our noses. Or that they’d been setting us up. Or both. Really wanted it to not be both.
Trevor didn’t reply, and he looked just slightly disappointed.
“Oh, my God, not this crap again. Okay, fine, I got your totally broad hint. I just didn’t need to exclaim, ‘Oh, say it ain’t so, Steph’s just like her great-granddaddy, y’all,’ because we already know that. I mean, we know it. We figured it out at least two Operations ago. Maybe more. They’re all distinct but the details all sort of blend together for me after a while. Crazed lunatic makes bizarre opening move, things get dicey, plot is foiled, world is saved, usually at the last second, blah, blah, blah.”
Trevor blinked. “Ah . . .”
“And Stephanie’s told you I’m a moron, as has anyone else from the League of Genius Lunatics up to and definitely including LaRue Demorte Gaultier, and so you wanted to see if I was stupid and lucky or smart and lucky or just lucky and lucky. Particularly because if I’m stupid and lucky there’s a chance you can bring me over to your side of things.”
“True and I believe—”
Cut him off. “I, frankly, don’t care what your determination was. Let me make it simple for you—I’m not stupid. The only person on your side who’s ever ‘gotten’ me was Madeleine Cartwright and I’m betting that she never told you she thought I was smarter than the average bear. Could have hung with her if she hadn’t wanted to, you know, kill everyone and take all the power for herself. Otherwise? As far as I’m concerned, you’re all a bunch of moles in the Whack-A-Mole game, and I’m the freaking hammer.”