by G M Eppers
Stephano pulled himself away from the Riffler. “Mi dispiace, I’m sorry.” He moved toward me. “You are busy people. I will show you.”
We followed him across the room, his girth barely fitting between the tables, where open wooden crates were sprouting shavings like lava from Mount Vesuvius. The side of the crate on the table had FRAGILE burned into one of the closely-spaced slats. A label under protective plastic had several official looking symbols on it and disclaimers in very tiny print. In larger print it said, Lyndon B. Johnson Space Center on it and the address in Houston, Texas. He reached into the crate and brought out an oddly shaped rock, pulling excelsior off of it as he shifted it gingerly from one hand to the other. Badger said, “A moon rock?”
Stephano frowned as he tossed it to Badger with a disgusted look on his face. “A fake! Oltraggioso!”
Badger caught the rock in both hands, taken aback by the casual toss. After juggling it a bit, his eyebrows went up, and he passed it on to me like it was a hot potato. It felt heavy enough, but it was clearly not a rock. The surface was neither rough nor hard, though it was apparently painted to appear so.
Roxy, from the back of the group, stated, “Counterfeit moon rocks are not our purview. You need to call the FBI, or –“
Before she could finish, I said, “Heads up!” and lobbed it to Roxy over the heads of the twins and Sylvia.
“Hey!” She caught it clumsily, almost dropping it, then the unexpected texture made her drop it anyway. It hit the floor with a splat. Her brow furrowed as she bent her knees to pick it up. One side was now smooth and flat. “What the --?” She used a fingernail to peel off a piece about the size of a walnut. The inside was a very pale yellow, marbled with veins varying in shade from light to dark green. “This is cheese!”
Nitro swung his kit off his shoulder. “Hand me that piece you broke off,” he told Roxy. She passed the main part of the cheese rock to Sylvia and stepped forward, stretching her other hand to give the walnut-sized piece to Nitro. He took it, chipped off a tiny fragment, and moved to a table to do his thing with the test kit.
While Nitro was working, Professor Stephano was still ranting in Italian. “He’s very upset,” said Badger, as if I couldn’t have determined that much. “There’s a limited amount of time to prepare the Moon rocks for display and he’s afraid word of counterfeits will get out and delegitimize the exhibit. They’ve already advertised and people would be very disappointed.”
“Are they all like this?” I asked the Professor, who again, too upset to find the English words, replied in Italian, looking to Badger for help to be understood.
“They’ve only unpacked the one crate, but so far, yes,” translated Badger.
I looked at the crates, trying to estimate how many “rocks” each would hold, and made some liberal guesses. If these things were Uber, they could be worth enough for a display of their own, even if they weren’t priceless moon rocks.
“It’s clean,” said Nitro. “Do you want me to test another?”
“May we?” I asked Professor Stephano, who nodded. “Pick one at random from the open crate. Perhaps we should open another crate and check that, too.”
Stephano agreed and picked up a hammer to pry open another crate, moving two crates off the top to reach the third of the four remaining crates. He put it on the table next to the other and opened it, pulling out excelsior and fishing out another rock. Suddenly, his voice took on a reverence and he handled it carefully.
“That one is real,” said Badger.
The professor placed it on the work table and dug out another one, which also turned out to a real moon rock. Quickly, he and his assistants opened the rest of the crates and determined that all the rocks were real except that ones in the first crate, which were all made of cheese. As they worked, one assistant marked each specimen off on an invoice. “We’ve got all the moon rocks we were expecting,” he said. “The counterfeits appear to be extra.”
Meanwhile, the first rock had gotten to Sir Haughty, who sniffed it, then tasted a small bite, carefully avoiding the painted surface. He nibbled again just to be sure, then said. “Sage Derby.” He pronounced the word derby as if it were spelled darby. He tasted again, holding the piece in his mouth for a moment before chewing and swallowing. “I believe the green marbling is made of parsley.” He smacked his lips a bit. “Yes, parsley. They sometimes use spinach but I’m not detecting that flavor at all. It’s called Sage Derby because originally it was made with sage, in Derby, England, but the options for creating the green marbling are quite broad.” Sir Haughty was taking a closer look, but I knew he wouldn’t be wrong. He examined the surface, then touched it with the tip of his tongue. “I suspect it was painted with food coloring. Amazing workmanship.”
Sylvia hit her head with the palm of one hand. “By any chance, is Sage Derby ever referred to as Green Cheese?”
“Why, yes. It is,” replied Sir Haughty.
“The Moon is made of Green Cheese,” she said. “Or so people said. Someone has a sense of humor.”
I saw her point and wanted to do a face palm of my own. “Nitro, any Uber?”
He had checked a number of rocks from the disputed crate. He shook his head. “All clean. This is odd, but we don’t have a job here.”
“My apologies, Professor,” I told him. “They don’t appear to be Uber. I suggest you contact the Space Center and see if they can track that crate. You might want to inform the FBI as well since it went across state lines.” It sounded to me like some very creative practical joker had intercepted the shipment. But if the forger hadn’t stolen any moon rocks, I wasn’t sure there was a crime worth prosecuting. As far as we were concerned, it was an ill-conceived prank. Until a month from now, anyway. But we couldn’t proceed under rules that didn’t exist yet. We had no authority to pursue this.
We were the Uber police and this cheese was not at all illegal. Not yet. The thought reawakened my urgency to speak to President Glenarrow, hoping to avoid another Prohibition. I hoped for an opportunity to remind Badger about it as well when I noticed that he was scanning the label information into his phone. Future reference was all we had.
This kind of thing was a hazard of the job. When you only needed to concern yourself with a particular type of crime and you found others, all you could do is refer those involved to the appropriate agency. It was frustrating. And speaking as the son of a history teacher who was ingrained from an early age with a respect for historical artifacts, it was especially annoying to have to ignore moon rocks. I didn’t even ask to be allowed to touch them, but I felt special just being in the same room with them. I looked at the verified rocks lined up on the work table, waiting to be cataloged and prepared for display, and marveled at how they had come nearly 240,000 miles to be here. I wouldn’t look at the Moon the same way again.
We left the museum commiserating about our disappointment. “You guys go back to HQ,” I said. “Contact Miss Chiff and tell her what we found. Let her know we’re available for another mission. The twins and I have an errand to run.” Before they could all walk away, I tagged Badger and quietly whispered to him, “don’t forget about the call to the President.”
“We’re already in the queue,” he whispered back. “Waiting for a break in the peace talks. If you’re not home, I can forward it to your phone, but you won’t get video.”
“Thanks, Badger.”
Moultrie Courthouse is just a few blocks north of The Mall. We walked it easily. I really enjoy walking around D.C. It’s a beautiful city, at least the parts we frequented, and we rarely had time to, as the saying goes, stop and smell the roses. It was always hurrying to the Metro to get to the airport. Though it was about 45 degrees, the CURDS jackets kept us warm enough.
There was extensive security at the Courthouse, of course, which ate up nearly half an hour by itself. Most seemed to be heading toward the trial rooms. We were lucky that the line was relatively short at the marriage bureau.
We reached the window wi
th our paperwork all filled out and my wallet in my hand. The young woman on the other side greeted us with a smile. Wearing a sunshine yellow dress and with her jet black hair teased more than an overweight kid on the first day of high school, she said, “Hello, happy couple!” She examined the paperwork and made some marks of her own. When she got a good look at the twins, her smile brightened. “Oh, I’ve see you around. You work for CURDS, don’t you?”
“That’s right.”
“How wonderful for you. Will you be getting married today? There’s a non-denominational chapel on the second floor.”
Avis actually blushed a little. “No, not today. We’re planning a large event, in fact.”
“That’s a shame.” The woman almost pouted a little.
“Why?” I asked, my curiosity aroused. Was there a discount today?
She put her signature at the bottom of the form, opened a flatbed scanner nearby, and placed it gingerly under the lid. “Oh, it’s just that I get to act as witness if I want to and I LOVE weddings!” It’s the best part of this job.” She spun around, addressing the four other people at various desks behind her, and said loudly, “This is the best job in the world!” They raised their heads, muttered unenthusiastic agreement, and returned to their work.
Handing us back the original, she put the copy in a basket to be filed later. “Here you go. Have a great day! Next!”
The twins were ungodly happy about having the license. They squealed all the way home like the last little piggy.
It was half past two by the time we reached HQ. I saw Knobby’s yellow Prius in the driveway and looked forward to seeing him. I hadn’t seen him since the funeral and even then I was too preoccupied to remember much. I’m not sure I even thanked him for coming. I put the key in the lock and opened the front door and Knobby was right there like a deer in the headlights. I got the distinct impression that he’d been pacing in front of the door. “Hi, Knobby! Good to see you!” I said, letting the twins go in ahead of me. “Ladies,” I said as they passed, “meet me upstairs. We’ll work out some more wedding details while we have the time.” I gave Avis a kiss, they hung up their jackets and started the long climb to the fourth floor.
Knobby leaned to watch until they disappeared around the landing. “I need to talk to you, Mr. Montana.”
“Knobby, it’s Billings.”
He ignored me, resuming his pacing while I put my jacket in the front closet. “There’s bad news and there’s worse news. Oh dear. What do you want to hear first?”
I tried to remain calm. “Let’s sit down, Knobby.” I guided him over to one of the couches and sat at the far end, patting the other as I passed it. “Calm down.” He sat on the edge of the couch, not really calming down. “What’s the bad news?” I figured either one was a good start, and that bad and worse were a matter of opinion.
“Well, I –.” He wiped his brow and repeated, “Oh, dear.” I tried to encourage him with my eyes, not wanting to interrupt. “You see, I was cleaning. That’s what I do, you know. The carpets needed vacuuming. The hallways. It’s been awhile. So I was vacuuming up there on the third floor and I know you’ve been busy so I thought I’d help you out and do what I could reach in your room. I’ve done that before. Never a problem. But this time, I guess I didn’t realize…”
“Did you suck up a sock?” It was easy to imagine I’d left clothes on the floor. I’d make sure everything was put away before we left but this morning I knew we’d be coming back here so it was possible something had slipped by me.
“No,” he said, avoiding making eye contact. “Um…your mother.”
“WHAT?!?!” I stood up rapidly, ready to race upstairs to see the evidence, but Knobby grabbed my arm and pulled back.
“Not much! I put most of it back!” He was so panicked I finally did sit back down.
I took a couple of deep breaths. “Tell me what happened, Knobby.”
“I bumped into the side of the dresser. The urn tottered. I saw it was going to fall, but I couldn’t get there in time to catch it. It fell over and the lid fell off and some of the, you know, spilled out. Mostly on the top of the dresser but some of it went on the carpet. I scooped up everything I could, I swear! I put it all back with my best whisk broom. But you know, ashes and carpet. You just can’t. So I had to finish up with the vacuum. But it was only a tiny bit, I swear!”
I remembered now. I’d opened it to show my mother, I mean, the ghost of my mother, the inside. I must not have screwed the lid on completely. I put a hand on Knobby’s shoulder. “It’s my fault, Knobby. I had it open to, well, to look, and I guess I didn’t put the lid on properly. It wouldn’t have spilled at all if I hadn’t been careless.”
“You’re not making that up?”
I crossed my heart. “Honest. Did the urn get damaged?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t see any cracks. I looked it over really close. But if it is, I’ll pay for a new one.”
“Nonsense. It wasn’t your fault. Forget about it.”
He calmed a little. “I wouldn’t have felt right not telling you about it. It would have eaten me away.”
“I know that, Knobby. I’ll be more careful with the lid if you’ll be more careful with the vacuum.”
“Deal.”
We shook on it. “What’s the worse news?” I asked.
He started biting his bottom lip. “He’s here.”
Chapter Three
“He who?” I wasn’t expecting anyone. In a pinch, Miss Chiff might come, but she’s clearly not a he.
Knobby winced as if his next words were physically painful. “Your new boss.”
“My what?”
“New coordinator. Major McGrone.”
That was damn fast, I thought. I hadn’t even officially decided on a new specialty yet and here Miss Chiff replaced me already. “Where is he?” Looking around, I noticed the house was conspicuously empty. “Come to think of it, where is everybody?”
He decided to answer my last question first, evading the other. “Out back in the yard. McGrone ordered them to do two hours unless something came up.”
I rose firmly. Ordered? That wasn’t our style. People took responsibility for their own physical fitness and we’ve never had a problem with it. “I’ll take care of this. Where is he?”
“Upstairs, reading personnel files.”
“Which room?” It hit me after I’d asked that there was only one room for him to take. My mother’s. He saw the lightbulb go off above my head and I started to bolt for the stairs.
Again he grabbed my arm, but I was at the side of the staircase by the time he succeeded in stopping me. I would have dragged him if I didn’t stop, and without his kneecaps he could have been seriously injured. He’s lost them both in a training accident. From where I stood, I could see through the kitchen window into the yard. I got glimpses of Sir Haughty’s leg as he climbed the jungle gym, Roxy spread-eagled on the climbing wall, and Nitro’s head bobbing across the frame as he ran the track. “He has no right!”
The back door opened and Badger came in, his phone in one hand. I probably wouldn’t recognize him without it. He didn’t see me at first. “Knobby, is Billings back yet?” Then he looked up. “Billings! Good. The president is available to speak with you. Now or never, Dude.”
I looked up the steps, feeling overwhelmed. I had the twins waiting for me on the fourth floor to go over wedding plans, a usurper doing God knew what to my mother’s room, and the president of the United States ready to connect from the Horn of Africa. Despite Knobby’s explanation, I also wanted to check the urn for myself. There was a strong possibility that Miss Chiff would have a mission for us soon. We’d been available for about four hours and she was still shorthanded. Decision making 101. You don’t keep the President waiting. “Set it up,” I told Badger.
He went over to the television and plugged his phone into a port. While we waited, Knobby added, “I need to warn you about McGrone.”
“Go ahead.” I was at my limit
of outrage. How much worse could it get?
“He’s regular Army. Ex-Army, actually, but still, you know, very very…Army.”
“I can handle that.” CURDS isn’t considered part of the Armed Forces. They couldn’t court martial me for punching his lights out. “What’s his first name?”
“Sir.”
“I’m not going to call you Sir.”
“You call HIM Sir. His chest hair has a buzz cut. They say he has the entire CURDS charter tattooed on his you know what.” Knobby was serious. The charter is nearly two hundred pages long, the implication being that Major McGrone’s service member was exceptionally large. “He’s so straight laced that he’d have to have a psychotic break to park in a handicap spot. Don’t mess with him, Billings.”
I was not intimidated, but Knobby seemed excessively worried. “I got this, Knobby. I’ve dealt with people like him before.”
“You want privacy, Billings?” Badger asked, pulling my attention away from Knobby and the McGrone problem.
“Yes, please.” I put McGrone on my mental back burner and walked back into the living room.
“Just push ACCEPT when you’re ready.” He skirted around me to go back out to the yard. Their two hours wasn’t up yet. Knobby gave me a sympathetic look and went down to the basement where his room was. After all that panic, he probably needed a nap.
I went over to the couch that faced the TV directly and found Badger’s phone. A long cord connected it to the television. Taking a seat front and center, I pushed ACCEPT.
President Sequoia Glenarrow appeared on the screen. It was late evening in the DMZ between Ethiopia and Somalia and several strands of her thick black hair had escaped from her ubiquitous braid. She sat in a folding chair, behind a long, white table on which her laptop, though I couldn’t see it, rested. In a semi-circle behind her, with their backs to me, were several armed Service agents. Suddenly, I felt horrible. I had disturbed her when she clearly would have preferred to call it a night after what had to be a harrowing day of peace talks. But it would have looked even worse to back out. I reminded myself of what she’d told us after the CURDS Academy graduation ceremony when she had personally sworn us in, and what she had told the American people when she gave her first inaugural address, years before I was old enough to vote. She wanted to be not only the most transparent president, but also the most accessible.
