or would once the sign maker finished engraving the last letters. Rev watched the tradesman turn off the laser etcher, then blow the smoke away as if he had a hundred candled birthday cake.
“Whatcha think?”
“Looks great,” said Rev.
The engraver scratched his ass, then pulled the engraving machine to the side. He started breaking it down, packing it away into two aluminum suitcases.
“What’s a Galactic Private Investigator do anyway?” he asked.
“Not much, so far,” said Rev. “But I’ve got big hopes that there’s work out there amongst the Alliance planets.”
“You not gonna take them nudie pictures of aliens cheating on their wives are you?”
“I hope not,” laughed Rev.
“Good,” said the engraver pleased. “Them tabloids love to print that garbage. My wife says—”
Rev interrupted. “I’m a little busy. How much do I owe you?”
“Oh, sure. Let me see.” He pulled his clipboard out, then scrolled a few screens until he found the one he was looking for. “You don’t owe me nothing. Says here on the invoice the job’s been paid in full.”
“Well, then thanks,” said Rev shaking the man’s extended hand.
The engraver printed a two-part invoice form and handed Rev the yellow copy. “See you later Mr. Smalley.”
“Thanks again,” said Rev running his fingers over the engraving. He grabbed the brass handle and walked into the reception area.
Reese Stewart was bending over a box trying to extract a computer from the packaging. Rev stood there for a moment and admired the perfect shape of the redhead’s rear. Rev grinned watching her tug on the persistent cardboard. Her high heels and satin blouse swayed as she finally yanked the offending paper away and stood up with some hair in her eyes.
“Chivalry is dead,” she said noticing Rev while putting her hair back in order. “Could you at least stop ogling me?”
Rev shook his head as he put his hand up to his chest acting like he was positioning a woman’s breast. Reese looked down spotting the reason and tucked the rogue mammary gland back into her blouse.
“Would you please just get this damned thing out of the box?”
“I’d love to,” said Rev putting the box on the counter and with two fingers plucked the computer out effortlessly.
“Show off.”
He set the little machine down and lifted its lid. The screen popped to life and chirped happily indicating it was ready to use. “Need anything else?”
“Yes,” she said. “You can look after that partner of yours. He’s been like a little kid with too much candy.”
“I’ll take care of Flint,” said Rev. “He’s just excited with the new surroundings.”
She put a hand on her hip and pointed the other at Rev. “He’s been making his face look like you again with a crewcut and acting like some big shot detective. I can tolerate him bossing me around like a bad Humphrey Bogart and calling me Toots, but I draw the line when he sneaks up behind me and sticks a finger in my back like a gun and says ‘stick ’em up.’ He scared the bejesus out of me last time.”
“I’ll talk to him,” said Rev. “Where is he?”
“Back there somewhere,” she said waving a hand, “saving the universe or something.”
Rev walked down the hall of his new office, his new career, and his new life. Since the Tsunamian incident he found that he was well funded, appreciated, and considered an expert negotiator saving not only the Tsunam but the Charrel also, who nearly destroyed that planet in a bloody civil war. Now the Alliance allowed a delegate of the Charrel to speak on their behalf as dual representatives for Tsunam. The universe looked like it was ready to settle down peacefully again. Rev knew he would be called upon soon for more of his unique talents but he hoped it could wait for awhile until he had a chance to settle into his new routine.
Rev found Flint whizzing around the conference room doing kung-fu moves. He watched the little automaton act out a karate chop. Flint was mainly sphere-shaped, about a meter in diameter with a highly advanced neural net comfortably protected by an ever-changing translucent outer covering. He got his name from the old story from Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island because when they were first assigned as partners, he reminded Rev of Long John Silver’s parrot.
Rev walked into the conference room just in time for an imaginary foe to drop after being kicked in the groin and Flint raising his two translucent arms high in the air in victory.
“Defeated your adversary?”
Flint looked exhilarated. “Training for when I meet up with Magnus again.”
Magnus Blackheart was the real criminal behind the Tsunamian incident and Rev still regretted letting him get away, but criminals like Magnus never stayed underground for very long. Magnus had been the Director of the Earth Intelligence Agency (the EIA), criminally insane, and also one of only two remaining Earth eugenics soldiers known to exist—Rev being the other.
“I see,” said Rev.
“When are we going after him?” Flint asked with enthusiasm.
“Soon,” said Rev. “But it’s more likely he’ll be coming for us since we ruined his plans.”
“Revenge?”
“He was willing to kill everyone he ever knew for money. Don’t you think we’re on the top of his to-do list of people to get even with?”
Flint wrinkled his nose thinking and his face shaped into a facsimile of Rev’s. “He’ll find Rev Smalley, Galactic P.I., ready when he does,” he said in a super-hero voice.
Rev patted the little automaton on his surface. “Yes, he will, but you’re not Rev Smalley—I am—and I’d appreciate it if you could tone it down a little. You’re scaring the help.”
“Oh—you mean Reese?”
“Yep, she’d really like it if you’d stop trying to shoot her in the back.”
Look For
MOM BE LOST
Coming Winter of 2016.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Scott A. Combs is an artist, graphic designer, software engineer and writer. He resides in Chandler, Arizona, with his family, one fat cat and his best little buddy, Maxine, an Amazon parrot.
To connect with Scott visit: http://scottacombs.com
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Rev has been a long time waiting to see the light of day. Way back in 2008 he was an experiment for the NaNoWrMo (although we started in July) and ended up being 110K words in two months. It was a mess. Then I started to believe in Rev. I'm happy to say he’s alive and well as it has turned into the story you have before you. In some ways he has taught me everything I needed to know about writing. For that I want to thank him for being patient with me.
For the living I want to thank the following:
My wife and family foremost for allowing me the freedom to hide in my den and play. To Kim Halleck Finder, the Optimistic Crank, who carries the eternal torch of encouragement. May the Cranky Writers live forever. And lastly, to my editor, R.W. Jensen, who single-handedly fought with Rev and won.
A CALL FOR HELP
I WANT TO THANK YOU for reading this far. You, the readers, are why I write; I couldn’t do it without you. I would be grateful if you’d leave a review. It’s truly the best way for me to grow as an author. Each and every review is deeply appreciated. Thanks again. — Scott.
HAVE A LAUGH ON ME
READ FOR FREE!
His Holiness, the Supreme Spiritual Leader of the Galactic Guild, Glup III, an aging podil, is about to be dethroned and podil-napped all in the same day. The MISFITS, Militia In Secret Fighting Idiotic Theological Shit, decide today is a good day to thwart the evil Cardinal Nog’nik’s plans to take over the Galactic Guild and become a living god.
The Galactic Guild dispatches their top agents, George Shooters and Sali Terri to restore Glup III to his righteous position and discover how a pair of bumbling pilgrims have obtained the technology necessary to teleport Glup III from the clutches of a deranged despot.
LEARN HOW A
T:
http://scottacombs.com/fanpage
The Beast of Tsunam (Rev Smalley: Galactic P.I. Book 1) Page 35
