Book 5: 3rd World Products, Inc.

by Ed Howdershelt

  "Just toss it over the side."

  Giving me a somewhat insulted look, she said, “I don't think so. There's enough trash lying around."

  There were only a couple of swallows left of my beer, so I tossed the bottle at the flitter's field perimeter. Both ladies freaked and shrieked at the soundless plasma blast and Loren instinctively pulled Brittany away from the explosion.

  Brittany's right breast appeared to be trying to escape her low-cut dress and both women were showing a great deal of leg. I saw no reason not to enjoy the view.

  When they looked rather starkly at me, I said, “That's why there's no trashbag,” and opened another beer.

  Brittany realized she was almost lying in Loren's lap and tapped Loren's arm to make her let go. Loren released her and she sat up, adjusting her dress. Loren did the same.

  "Was that really necessary?” asked Loren.

  "Maybe not, but you were pretty entertaining.” Shrugging, I added, “You'd be pretty if you weren't entertaining, too, of course. That's a definite given. How many of the reporters are still waiting for us? We'll be a little late."

  Glancing at Loren, Brittany said, “I guess we'll find out. At least we have something to tell them now. What are you going to do when we get back to Dallas?"

  "Probably head on back to Florida."

  Loren asked, “Only ‘probably'?"

  Shrugging, I replied, “Got a better idea? I'm open."

  They seemed to give matters some thought, then Loren said, “We can check in with Debbie and bring the media people into the lounge for questions. By then it'll be close enough to closing time ... No. Damn. It's Wednesday. Davis'll need me on the books until well after ten."

  Brittany said, “You could at least come in for a beer and a snack. We don't close until nine."

  I shook my head. “No, the place'll be full of reporters who'd be of far more benefit to you. How about we make it another night? Or even a day? We can go to a beach or something."

  Looking at Loren, Brittany said, “I haven't been to a beach in ages, Loren. That sounds good. Real good."

  "Suits me. It can't happen for another two weeks, though. Mind if we bring a couple of guys along?"

  Reflecting her question back at her, I asked, “Mind if I bring a couple of girls?"

  Looking around, Loren said, “There are only six seats."

  "No problem. We'll make the guys bring lawn chairs or sit on the deck."

  "Who are the girls you're referring to?"

  "Who are the guys you're referring to?"

  Loren sat back and regarded me thoughtfully for a few seconds, then smiled and said, “This isn't how it usually goes, you know. We don't usually have to do much more than bat our eyes at a guy to get our way."

  "There's no doubt in my little mind about that, ma'am."

  "So why aren't you like them? I've seen you leering at us, and you couldn't have invited us to a beach without realizing it would mean seeing us in bathing suits."

  "Seeing and having are two different things. The ladies I'll bring have been with me for a quite a while. What are the guys to you? Boyfriends?"

  "Wait a minute,” said Brittany, “Are you telling us you have two girlfriends?"

  "Yup. They'd be together anyway, though.” Leaning closer, I said in a conspiratorial whisper, “Sometimes I think they just keep me around to scratch certain itches, you know?"

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Tiger—the owner of a permanent fur coat—knew full well about itches. He hopped down to the seat beside mine and firmly said, “Selena and Toni do not itch."

  The ladies snickered as I sighed. How could I explain that sort of a metaphor to a cat?

  "Tiger, that was just a way of saying we play together."

  He looked steadily at me as his collar translated, then replied, “Why not say you play? Why a ... metafur."

  "Metaphor. It's just the way people talk sometimes, when they're being careful with each other."

  Looking studiously at me, then the ladies, he said, “Doing nothing. Why careful?” then he hopped back up to the dash and watched the sky ahead for a moment before asking, “Will we go home soon?"

  "Sure,” I said. “Home soon."

  "Good.” He turned back to watching the sky.

  Loren said, “I still can't get over a talking cat."

  She named a date two weeks ahead and asked me if it would do for a day at a beach.

  "As far as I know, it will. I'll check with my friends."

  "Same here,” she said, as Dallas began to be identifiable below us.

  We watched the city rise to meet us and saw that the street outside Nick's—while a bit more organized than before—was still well-stocked with press vehicles and a few police cars.

  "Your public awaits,” I said as we settled between buildings to hover above the street in front of the restaurant's doors. “I suggest that we stay aboard a few minutes and just hang here to let them get organized."

  Both ladies nodded. “Good idea,” said Brittany.

  "Flitter,” I said, “Use your excited squid display for a full minute, please."

  Snorting a laugh, Loren asked, “Excited squid ... ? “then muttered, “Oh, my God!” as our hull seemed to erupt with vibrantly bright, moving colors.

  "It's your grand entrance,” I said, “I guess I could toss in the theme music from ‘Rocky’ if you want."

  Staring gapingly at our canopy, Brittany mumbled, “Ah ... no, that's, uh ... all right. This is ... uh, fine. Jesus!"

  Tiger asked, “What is a squid?"

  I called up a field screen and showed him a squid. He seemed altogether unimpressed with the creature.

  Loren, on the other hand, seemed very impressed with the field screen. She tried to reach for the screen and put her hand through it, looked up at me with wide eyes, then looked at Brittany, who was in about the same state.

  Looking outside at the quickly-assembling herd of press and media people, I changed the squid picture to a mirror and suggested that there was time to primp.

  The ladies saw themselves, glanced at the crowd, and immediately opened their purses to touch themselves up. As soon as they'd finished, I turned off the screen.

  "Well, this is it,” said Brittany, checking her dress and leaning to kiss my cheek, “It's showtime. You have our cards?"

  "Sure do."

  "Good. Call ahead if you can get up here in the next two weeks. If you can't call, we'll feed you at the very least."

  "Right,” said Loren. “And if you're up this way when we can get time off, maybe we'll try a few clubs."

  "Thanks. Sounds great."

  Loren also kissed my cheek, then turned to face the crowd and said, “Ready."

  "Flitter,” I said, “Translucent field, please. Soundproof,” and hopped to the ground to offer each woman a hand.

  The view was fairly spectacular as both women necessarily showed a considerable amount of leg stepping down. Cameras flashed from the moment the flitter's field became translucent, of course, and more flashed when the ladies stepped to the ground. I hopped back aboard the flitter.

  "Go get ‘em, ladies,” I said.

  They both grinned up at me and started forward into the crowd. A few of the newsies tried to approach the flitter and were stopped at the barrier.

  They clamored silently and cameras flashed incessantly. Tiger growled and looked away. When the ladies were safely on the sidewalk, I told the flitter to take us home and we lifted out of the man-made canyon of the street.

  As we rose above Dallas, the console chimed and Linda's ID code showed in the bottom right corner.

  I keyed the screen on and said, “Hi, Linda."

  She looked as if she'd been home for a while. A few hairs were out of place and she wore no lipstick.

  Tiger heard me say ‘Linda’ and her voice and hopped down to sit in my lap as he greeted her with, “Hello, Linda! Hello!"

  "Hello, Tiger!” she grinningly answered. “Hi, Ed. We've been following y
our exploits this evening."

  "We, huh? As in you and that sailor guy or you and the commo crew?"

  Emory Wallace stepped into view and gave me a fatuous smile as he put his hands on Linda's shoulders in a possessive manner and said, “Hi, Ed."

  Looking up at me, Tiger said, “He said no ‘hello’ to me, but I am here."

  Rolling his eyes, Wallace said, “Sorry. Hello, Tiger."

  "Hello!” Tiger responded instantly. That appeared to be all he had to say, but he seemed satisfied to have said it.

  I shook my head slightly and said, “Well, I guess that's it. Hi, Emory. Are you afraid she'll float out of that chair?"

  To forestall his answer and possibly a situation, Linda said, “Phil Cartwright of the Dallas office got wind of your visit and sent us a live feed of your return. You certainly know how to make an entrance, don't you?"

  "It seemed like the thing to do at the time, milady. Did Emory's tongue hang out when he saw my passengers?"

  Shrugging, she said, “He managed not to drool, so I didn't say anything. Most of the commo crew was suitably impressed, too. Expect some comments the next time you're up here."

  "Next time out I'll sell tickets. They're both struggling models, y'know. The money might come in handy. How did the Sioux City cops handle everything? Will I have to go back?"

  "We're still sorting matters from the Sioux City incident, but all seems to be in order—or enough so—for now, at least. Do you have anything to add?"

  "Nope. It was all recorded. If Sue rustled up any new stun wand customers, you'll hear about it."

  "Oh, we already have and she has. Sue says the Sioux City PD looks good for a hundred or more right away. Where are you off to now?"

  "Well, Tiger's ready to go home."

  "Yes,” said Tiger, in a definite tone, “Home."

  Wallace looked as if he had something to say, but couldn't quite make the words happen. I wondered only briefly whether I cared what those words might be. He had his hands on my boss and longtime friend, and that bugged me.

  "Nothing else to report,” I said.

  Linda's left eyebrow went up slightly, but she nodded.

  "Okay. Well, it's been a long day. Goodnight, Ed."

  "Goodnight, Linda."

  Hurriedly reaching to still her hand on its way to her screen, Wallace gave Linda an odd glance and me a direct gaze, then said, “I just wanted to say ... that was good work today, Ed."

  His rushed remark was kind of a surprise, I guess; for Linda and me both. We didn't bother much with backpatting.

  I responded, “Thanks, Emory,” as Linda glanced up at him with another raised eyebrow.

  Turning back to me, she said, “Later, Ed."

  Still looking thoughtful, she poked her ‘off’ icon. I did the same and sat looking at the blank screen for a time. Yup. It still bugged the hell out of me that she'd gotten involved with a brass-hat control freak like Wallace, but he seemed to suit her well enough. They were still together, at any rate.

  What was that last bit about? He knew Linda and I didn't...

  Sue appeared in the seat next to mine and Tiger greeted her with a ‘hello'. She returned his greeting and rubbed his chin and ears.

  "Hi,” I said.

  "Hi. You seem a little down."

  Shrugging slighty, I replied, “I'll survive."

  "Want to talk about it?"

  "No point. It's the Linda-Wallace thing. Same old gripe. I guess some opposites really do attract."

  Giving me an odd look and a small smile, Sue said nothing as Tiger turned his other cheek for further attention.

  "What?” I asked. “I know I'm ignoring the obvious."

  With a snicker, Sue asked, “Do you?"

  I sighed and put my feet up on the console as I watched the pattern of lights below us. I knew the patterns well enough after several trips to recognize Alexandria, Louisiana just to the south of us and the Baton Rouge-New Orleans blobs of lights to the southeast. In a couple of minutes we'd cross I-10 at the Mississippi-Alabama line and be over the Gulf of Mexico until we reached Florida.

  "Yeah,” I said, “They're more alike than I want to admit. I've seen and experienced how Linda runs her world. The only thing missing is the uniform. That's why we never lasted."

  If I hadn't been looking directly at the string of lights that ran along the coastline, I might have missed the brief burst of light near a sizeable dark area.

  Since the only sizeable dark areas along a coastline are likely to be lakes or bays, it seemed to me that the burst of light had to have happened on a bridge.

  "Flitter, stop our forward motion and take us down to one thousand feet. What caused that burst of light?"

  As the lights below rushed up at us, the flitter answered, “The burst of light was caused by an explosion."

  Well, duuuhh...

  Sue snickered as I said, “Computers, huh? Flitter, try to be more specific and take us to the scene,” and looked around.

  An airport to the west. No, those were military jets. Had to be Keesler AFB because the nearby bridge wasn't just one bridge; there were two long bridges, running side-by-side. Interstate ... whatthehell was it here? I-110. Yeah. Not far away, the old, single-road bridge still spanned the bay.

  The flitter said, “It appears that a pickup truck collided with the cab of a tanker truck containing diesel fuel. The explosion occurred when the gasoline tank of the pickup truck ruptured during the collision. The fuel tank on the left side of the tanker also ruptured. I am smothering the fire."

  "Thank you,” I replied. Turning to Sue, I said, “Sue,” but she'd already disappeared from the seat next to mine.

  As an unseen field blanketed the fire and smothered it out of existence, Sue said through my implant, “The pickup driver is dead. The tanker driver is alive, but injured and unconscious. I'll begin treatment and remove both of them to the flitter."

  "Unless the guy needs airlifted immediately, just field them to the side of the road and work on him there. Flitter, go visible with an opaque, neon red field, set us down a hundred feet behind the wreck, and put me in contact with the nearest fire department through my implant, please."

  I heard the usual phone sounds of dialing and receiver pickup and a woman answered.

  "Hi, there,” I said, “I'm at the south end of the northbound I-110 bridge and I'm calling to report a wreck."

  "Sir, someone's already notified us about the accident. Fire and police units are on their way."

  "Great. The fire's out. One driver's dead and one's injured, and he's being treated. I've put the fire out and blocked the road behind the wreck with my flitter and..."

  "Your what?” she interrupted again.

  "My flitter. The fire's out. We'll take care of things until you get here. That's all, pass it on. Goodbye."

  Keying off the connection, I called Sue as I stepped off the flitter onto the shoulder of the road and walked toward her.

  "As soon as the fire department takes over the scene, I'm gonna hit the road, Sue. You can stay and chat if you want."

  About fifty feet from the wreck, both of the men lay prone a few feet above the ground in a grey translucent field that surrounded and supported them.

  One guy—the one who wasn't breathing—was a charred, bloody mess. His left front temple had been crushed inward, so it seemed likely he hadn't been conscious after the impact.

  The other guy was missing some hair and his shirt, which was lying across his legs. Sue had cleaned his head wound—likely from slamming against the cab door's window—and was using fields to control bleeding.

  I heard sirens in the distance and saw emergency vehicles taking the Interstate on-ramp about a mile away. The cops got to the scene first, of course, probably because the firetrucks had been told to hang back until someone okayed matters.

  Two cop cars eased past the red-pulsing flitter and came to a stop near us. A cop in the lead car used his radio for some moments, then nodded as if whomever he was talking t
o could see him and opened his car door. The other cops also got out of their cars and cautiously started toward Sue and me.

  "Flitter,” I said, when they were close enough to hear me, “Remain opaque, but cancel the red glow. We don't need it now that the cavalry's here."

  The flitter instantly appeared to have a stainless steel hull that gleamed in the headlights and reflected the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles some distance away.

  That startled the hell out of both cops, but they continued toward us, staring hard at the flitter, the two guys hanging in the air, and the smoking, steaming wreck.

  "These guys need a hospital,” I said, “One's alive and one's dead. There's no risk of fire while my flitter's here."

  Looking at me, the lead cop took in my golf shoes, jeans, and green shirt, then met my gaze as if to determine the truth of my words.

  He told the others to check out Sue and the ‘flying guys', reached for his epaulet mike and told someone to send up the fire department, then asked me, “Who are you and what's your part in all this?"

  I handed him my driver's license and thumbed at the flitter as I said, “That's my flitter. We saw a flash. The flitter said it was a wreck, so we came down to help."

  Giving me an odd look, he glanced at the flitter and asked, “The flitter said it was a wreck?"

  With a small nod, I said, “Yup."

  A firetruck separated from the herd of official vehicles behind the flitter and advanced with visible caution. When it stopped, several guys got off and started examining the wreck as two of them came to check out Sue's patients.

  One of the firemen used his radio and a pair of ambulances joined the firetruck. Before the medics could get out of their vehicles, the two crash victims began floating toward the ambulances, accompanied by Sue, the firemen, and cops.

  An unmarked car stopped just beyond the flitter and the driver got out, watched the two bodies float over to the ambulances, then motioned for us to come to his car.

  When we got there, the uniformed cop handed him my license and said, “He says that's his flitter and it told him there was a wreck, so they came down to help."

  "That's right,” I said. “We put out the fire, blocked the road, and Sue took care of the drivers ‘till you guys got here."