Apparently Tiger had decided he'd fallen far enough. His triangular field glider appeared as a green speck above me, then rapidly seemed to grow smaller as our distance increased.
I called up my paraglider so he'd see me and let my fall slow enough to open my hang glider, then began circling. It wasn't long before Tiger plummeted past me with a yowl, then his paraglider opened. Moments later, he called up his kite.
Switching back to my paraglider, I descended to his altitude, then changed back to my hang glider and guided it close to his.
"Hi, Tiger! Howzit going?"
As he yowled at me, his translator almost screamed, “You-not-tell-me-how-HIGH-UP!!"
Laughing, I said, “Well, now you know, don't you?"
"NOT FUNNY!! I made water!!"
He'd peed? Good thing I hadn't been right below him.
"Well, don't tell anybody else about that. Are you okay now, friend Tiger? Not scared now?"
After a moment's silence, he said, “No. Not scared now."
He didn't sound altogether certain, but I said, “Good deal. Just do what I do until we're back on the ground, okay?"
"Okay."
My implant tingled and I felt the flitter take a position on our right as Sue said, “I see you managed to find each other."
"Oh, yeah,” I said. “No problem. How are the others handling things?"
"Well enough, I suppose, now that they can see you two aren't falling to your dooms. In case you'd like to know, you're just over three miles up."
Tiger asked, “What is a mile?"
I asked, “Remember when we walked to Connie's house? How far it was?"
"Yes."
"That was about one block, Tiger. Ten blocks are a mile."
"Ten?"
He'd once learned to count to five as I'd pointed out the toes on his left foot.
I said, “All of your toes on both front paws make ten."
Sue said, “I'll help,” and made a picture of the toes on one of Tiger's feet appear before him, saying, “That's five, Tiger."
Adding another paw, she said, “Now ten,” and adding four more paws, she said, “That's thirty blocks."
Little Tiger's ears went back. He looked at me rather starkly and said, “That's VERY far. We are VERY high up!"
"No problem. We're flying and Sue is here. We'll be fine."
"Actually,” said Sue, “There is a small problem. We're about to enter an air traffic region. For everyone's safety, I'm bringing you back aboard the flitter."
With no further discussion, she fielded us back aboard the flitter and turned off our gliders. I was about to say something when a silver speck became visible somewhat north of us.
The others noticed that I was staring past them and turned to look as the speck became a plane. Some moments later it passed almost directly below us closely enough that I could read the numbers on its tail.
I quietly deleted what I had been about to say to Sue and instead said, “Thank you, milady. Getting sucked into a jet engine might be a bit more than my five suit could handle."
She snickered and took a seat by the console.
"You're welcome."
Tiger had been placed on one of the outer seats. He watched the plane pass below and echoed my “Thank you,” then hopped up to the dash and began washing.
"Ed,” said Joan. I looked at her and she bit her lip as she asked, “Do you have any idea how much you scared us all when you jumped? When your cat followed you?"
"His name is Tiger."
"Yes,” said Tiger. “I am Tiger."
She glanced his direction with a slight, quick nod, then turned back to me.
I asked, “Are you still scared?"
"Uh, well, no, but..."
"Then forget it. Flitter, take us to the restaurant, please."
Joan stepped somewhat in front of me as I moved to a seat and said, “You knew how we'd react. That wasn't very nice."
"You want an apology? No problem. I keep a few spares in the glove box just for times like this."
She made no response as I sat down, instead staring beyond me at the uprushing ground as she locked onto the back of a seat and made a small keening sound. Dick had also taken a grip on a seat, and except for making no sound at all, he looked equally shocked by our descent.
The downblast of air created by our arrival kicked up a fairly large cloud of dust, but it settled so quickly that I suspected Sue had done something about it with a field.
A man who'd been facing the restaurant's doors spun around and nearly drew a gun, then reclosed his holster strap and stood watching the flitter. I noted a red and white ‘Sorry, we're closed’ sign on the doors.
"That's Detective Calvin,” said Rhonda, apparently speaking to herself. “He got off at five. Why the hell is he here?"
Through my implant, Sue said, “According to message logs, he came here when he went off duty. It would appear that he's been waiting for her."
I nodded slightly and glanced at Rhonda as I said, “Well, the restaurant's closed. If he's off duty and he isn't married, how many other reasons could he have for being here?"
She caught my gaze and sat a little straighter, then stood up and said, “There's nothing between us."
Shrugging, I answered, “Wouldn't matter to me, but are you sure? I don't see any other cops waiting for you."
"We don't know that he's waiting for me."
Grinning slightly, I replied, “I think he is,” and turned to Sue. “What do you think? Is he waiting for her?"
Lifting an eyebrow, Sue smiled and said, “It would certainly seem so. I suppose we could ask him."
With a droll expression, Rhonda said, “That won't be necessary. As far as I'm concerned, he's only here to give me a ride back to the station."
Giving her an appraising look, I said, “Uh, huh. Well, unless there's something seriously wrong with him, he'd be damned disappointed to hear that. You're kinda cute, y'know."
Rhonda gave me a wry smile and her gaze swept the others as she picked up her target box and said, “Thank you. And thank all of you for a very entertaining afternoon, but now it's getting kind of deep in here, so I'll be on my way."
She shook hands and said goodbyes with the others, then with me, then hopped off the deck to the ground, and walked toward Detective Calvin.
When Rhonda emerged from the flitter's perimeter field, the guy's mouth fell open as she appeared to walk through a stainless steel hull. Rhonda's step faltered slightly at his surprise, then she swung into a march toward him.
I watched her hips roll with her strides for a moment, then turned to Sue, who'd been watching me watch Rhonda. Sue's eyebrow went up again.
Keying my implant, I said softly, “You do it better,” then turned to the others and asked, “Well, what now?"
Straightening, Joan asked somewhat sharply, “What do you mean ‘what now'? Are you telling us you want us to leave?"
Shrugging, I answered, “No, not necessarily. If you know a good place to grab a steak dinner, I'll listen. If you don't, let me go so I can go find some food."
She glanced at Wexler and replied, “At this hour? Around here?"
"Here, there, anywhere. Doesn't really matter. If you don't come up with something, I can be in Florida in half an hour or so. I won't starve."
Joan looked and sounded openly skeptical. “Half an hour?"
Giving her a droll look, I reiterated, “Or so."
Wexler stared at me for a moment, then said, “That's about ... uh, three thousand..."
"Yeah, it's real fast,” I interrupted. “Somebody pick out a restaurant or I'm gonna toss you both overboard and split."
"Uhm ... well, there's..."
This time Joan interrupted him.
"Nick's,” she said in a rather challenging tone, “In Dallas."
"Any particular reason?"
She slightly grinned as she stated in that same tone, “I read about it the other day. It got good reviews."
Did she think
I was bullshitting her?
Sue said, “That restaurant is in the West End area. I've given the flitter the coordinates."
Nodding, I said, “Thanks, milady. It's in Texas, so they can probably cough up a decent steak. Flitter, take us to Nick's. Max warp, please. I'm kind of hungry."
The flitter launched us into the sky at just under the speed of sound. Joan screamed and locked onto the back of a seat. Wexler went to his knees clutching the back of another seat.
When we reached forty thousand feet, the flitter instantly bolted southward at full speed. Sue sighed at me in a meaningful fashion, shook her head slightly, and faced front.
In the ensuing silence I heard Joan's harsh, rapid breathing and turned to see her easing her way around the seat to sit down. Wexler hadn't moved at all, as far as I could tell.
"Well, damn, people,” I said, taking a seat, “You knew this thing could haul ass. Do you see me freaking out? Is Tiger upset about anything? Get your shit together, okay? We'll be there in a few minutes."
Joan screamed, “You bastard! You could have warned us!"
"Yeah, well, check the glove box again. See if there are any of those miscellaneous apologies left."
Tiger's ears were sharply forward as he watched Joan and Dick. His tail twitched and switched in a way that indicated he was highly amused.
I grinned at him and said, “I'll save some steak for you."
He looked at me long enough to say, “Thank you,” then returned his attention to Joan and Dick.
Calling up a datapad screen, I located Nick's. Right on the river, such as it was. The “Trinity Ditch", most people there called it.
A trickle of water a few yards wide lay between two man-made embankments ninety-five percent of any year, but now and then that mile-wide channel filled and even overflowed.
When I'd been about fourteen, it had been the wettest year in recent history. Not only had the Trinity Ditch overflowed, so had nearby Mountain Creek lake.
The lake had flooded some of the countryside and what had then been the Twin Drive-In theater along US-80. A few friends and I had gone to help fill and place sandbags at the mobile home park nearby, but there was already two feet of water everywhere, so we ended up milling around a snack wagon waiting for rides home.
That's when Billy Chalmers had muttered, “Well, Gawd-dayum!” and pointed at the water in the drive-in.
A catfish with a mouth the size of a car tire was swimming aimlessly around the drive-in parking lot, his dorsal fin standing tall as he explored his new accommodations.
Steve Holden spotted one by the drive-in's snack building, then another one swam into view by the white board fence, apparently trying to find a way past the barrier.
Families in that area were mostly poor and there wasn't much anyone could do about their homes, so some bright soul wired a piece of chain link fencing across the theater's entrance and probably a dozen people went fishing with ropes.
I punched up old Dallas Morning News records for 1964 and ran a search for articles mentioning the Twin Drive-In, and sure enough, there was the picture I remembered; Steve Holden up to his knees in water, throwing a lasso at a four-foot catfish.
Pointing at the guy on the other side of the catfish from the rope-thrower, Joan glanced at my face rather peeringly and asked, “Is that you? That kid looks like you."
"It's me. I used to live near Dallas. It rained a bit that year. The guy with the rope is Steve Holden."
Dick Wexler leaned in close behind her.
"That's a catfish, isn't it?!"
"Yup. The other two were bigger, but this one was faster. It got Billy Chalmers with a fin. Nearly drove it through his leg. Or so he said, anyway. I never actually saw the wound, and he was known to exaggerate now and then."
We talked about events of that time until we reached the sky above Dallas. Sue said, “We're about to descend,” and received “Thanks for the warning,” from Joan as she and Dick hurriedly took their seats.
It was just starting to get dark as they saw the Trinity Ditch, displayed the usual tourist's reaction to seeing the tiny dribble in the center of it, and marveled at the amount of water it would take to fill it, much less keep it full for days and cause flooding.
Sometime during our descent, Sue changed into her little black dress. I glanced up and noticed with my usual appreciation. That caused Wexler to also look at Sue.
His eyes went wide, his mouth fell open, and he muttered, “Uh ... “, which made Joan look. Her reaction was much like his.
Sue smilingly lowered us to the street between a fairly modern glass-and-steel building and an old brick building that appeared to have once been some kind of warehouse.
As if to say, ‘Despite the big-assed, garishly-multicolored neon sign we stuck on the roof, we have loads of class,’ a smallish brass plaque by the main doors was the only sign at street level that the brick building housed the restaurant.
More in keeping with the garish neon sign than the brass plaque, Nick's turned out to have a very 1950's Texas-themed decor that sprawlingly occupied the entire second floor.
Some of the tracks and fittings that had once handled heavy loads on pushcarts had been polished to a high gleam and one of the refurbished antique carts sat behind a rope barrier in the center of the lobby area.
The other most noticeable thing about the place was that—except for Sue—we were all underdressed. Everyone else looked as if he or she had just walked out of an office.
Such things don't bother me much. I just assume that if they'll let me in at all, they'll take my money and avoid offending me. Usually that's how it goes; sometimes not.
Two tall, good-looking blondes in matching, low-cut black sheath dresses with hemlines only slightly lower than Sue's stood by the reception podium.
Both eyed our group with apparent doubt, although I noticed that the one on the left—Loren, the manager, according to the nametag on her left breast—seemed to have a strongly positive reaction to seeing Sue.
She bit her lip and let her eyes rove from Sue's ankles to her hair before she looked at me. Her gaze then narrowed and swept the rest of us as if she were having to make a decision.
Joan muttered, “I didn't know there'd be a dress code."
"You read about it way the hell up in North Dakota,” I said, “A local fast-food place it isn't, even though it kind of looks like an old small town diner on steroids."
Fixing me with a sharp look, Joan said, “Well, it didn't occur to you, either, smart guy."
"Oh, yes, it did,” I chuckled, “But I don't worry about things like that. They have empty tables tonight. If they want to fill one, they'll let us in. If not, we'll find a Wendy's or something."
To Loren, I said, “We're tourists. Do we get in?"
The two blondes conferred very briefly, then Loren nodded and led us into the dining room and to a table by a window. On each table was a small Texas flag at half-mast on a pole.
Pulling the cord, Loren raised the flag and told us to use it to signal our waitress if we needed anything between her visits to our table.
When the waitress arrived—a truly fine-bodied brunette woman who looked like a ‘50's calendar pinup in a short-skirted cowgirl outfit with white boots—she handed us menus and asked if we'd like anything while we made our selections.
We ordered drinks and she strode away from our table like a Rockette, her A-line skirt slapping her thighs with every step. I looked at Joan and asked if all women practiced that walk.
Joan laughed, “We don't really have to. It just happens."
Some minutes later, the waitress returned to take our orders with Sue's explanation that she was on a special diet. Our food arrived within fifteen minutes, which I thought was fairly quick in comparison to many restaurants I'd visited.
The only things truly exceptional about the place were the prices, which were astronomically high. On the other hand, the food was very good, there was more than enough of it, and the service was almost too g
ood, even without using the flag.
Then there was the waitress, Brittany. I might otherwise have waved her off a few times, but the fact was that she was just too deliciously good-looking.
Dick was also having trouble keeping his eyes off her. He asked, “She kind of looks like Carmen Electra, doesn't she?"
I nodded. “Damned sure does."
Giving us both a wry look, Joan said, “Pull your eyeballs back in and eat, boys."
Sue grinningly asked, “Should I file a copy of her for later?"
Taking my eyes off the waitress, I met Sue's eyes and replied, “No, milady, you needn't bother. She's only damned good-looking. You're perfect."
Joan groaned softly, then snickered as Dick grinned at me.
"Good comeback,” he said.
Looking at Sue again, I said, “They seem to think I'm being less than honest with you, ma'am. Care to show them?"
A small field screen appeared on the table. On one side of it were both numeric and symbolic representations of my pulse rate and on the other side were twelve scrolling lines that displayed peaks and valleys.
As I reached to turn the screen slightly for a better view, two of the lines jumped and remained very active. My pulse rate increased a tenth of a percent with the motion.
I looked above and beyond the field screen at Sue and several lines became considerably more active as my pulse jumped over four percent.
Looking at the others, I said, “Bullshitting Sue is difficult."
Poking his finger through the screen, Dick muttered, “Well, damn. I guess it would be, at that."
Joan seemed either puzzled or thoughtful as her eyes met mine for a moment, then seemed to lock with Sue's. She reached to put her fingertips on the back of Sue's hand, then pulled her hand back and picked up her fork to resume eating.
"Problem, Joan?” I asked.
She briskly shook her head without looking up from cutting her steak, then stopped cutting, sighed, and quietly said, “I'm sorry. It's none of my business."
Shrugging, I said, “You're right, it isn't. It also isn't the first time anyone's wondered about that, so don't sweat it."
The matter caused a somewhat prolonged silence until Dick asked a question about flitters, and from then on table chat had mostly to do with with fields and the flitter, which we knew to be hovering just above the street beyond the window, even though we couldn't see it.
Book 5: 3rd World Products, Inc. Page 26
