“Agent Andrews?”
“Sherriff Donnelly.” He reached out and shook hands.
“My goodness, I can’t believe it. An actual man right here in Oxford.”
“There are no other men in town?”
“Not for years now.”
“But you’ve known other men?”
“I’ve known a few,” she said, but didn’t elaborate.
“As I told you on the phone, I’m looking for Pearl Kerrigan.”
“I can drive you out to her place. She lives right outside of town. Nobody’s seen her in weeks though.”
“I’m coming too,” said Deb, as they piled into the police car.
“All right,” said Andrews, “but stay out of the way.”
They drove through town. The once thriving main street had fallen to disrepair and beyond it was a town filled with old worn down houses with peeling paint and newer mobile homes set back from the street in lots overgrown with weeds and brush. Beyond the edge of town were a few small farms and then the ruins of abandoned farm houses. At last they pulled up in front of a turn of the century home. It was in better shape than some of the places they had seen, but it looked quiet now. The windows were all shuttered over and there seemed to be no sign of life.
Sheriff Donnelly got out of the car and walked up onto the front porch, peering into the front window before knocking on the door. Andrews got out and walked back along the long driveway toward the separated garage behind. He heard the sheriff knock several times and then call out but there was no answer. The garage had a door that slid from the side and it proved to be unlocked, so he pushed it far enough to create a two foot wide opening. He stared into the darkness inside.
“Aren’t you going to take out your gun?” asked a voice behind him.
“Get back to the car,” he told Deb, who had followed him around back.
“Not on your life. You have to get your adventure while you’re young.”
He pulled his coil gun from its holster and flipped it on. He thought briefly about threatening to shoot the pilot if she didn’t return to the car, but he didn’t think it would have any effect.
“Stay behind me.”
He pointed his weapon into the darkness and then followed it inside. Not expecting to be greeted by gunfire, he was nevertheless ready to return fire if necessary. Though there were no windows in the building, the light through the door gave quite a bit of illumination and his eyes quickly adjusted, allowing him to see even into the corners. There was nothing unusual. It was a garage. A workbench, dusty but uncluttered sat before a pegboard full of mechanic’s tools, a shelf of old paint stood in one corner, a lawn mower in the other. In the center of the floor, a car was covered by a tarp. Reaching up, he pulled it off to reveal a 1969 Studebaker Daytona ragtop.
“Doesn’t look like anybody’s been home for a while,” said the sheriff from the doorway. “Find anything?”
“No.”
“Just this door under the car,” said Deb.
Beneath the car was indeed a small wooden door about three feet square, with a rope handle. Opening the garage door, Andrews and Donnelly pushed the car out into the driveway, Deb pushed too, steering with one hand stuck through the driver’s side window. They were then able to open the door which led down cement steps to a storm cellar.
“Let me go down first,” said Donnelly, pulling her flashlight from her belt.
She descended the steps and, once at the bottom, flipped on a switch illuminating the room with electric light. Andrews followed her down and they found themselves in a normal example of the types of root cellars kept in the area. It was constructed of old used brick. Along the opposite wall was a shelving unit filled with jars of canned vegetables. A small cot sat against the wall to the right. Andrews turned around and looked at the wall behind them.
“That can’t be good.”
A small desk sat against the wall and spread across it were dozens of pictures cut from old magazines—all pictures of the Ladybugs. Next to them was a small jar of white paint, the brush still in it. Above the desk was a gun rack with spaces for two rifles, and both spaces were empty. On the wall, above the desk but below the gun rack, someone had used the white paint to carefully write out a long script message upon the red bricks. “The enemy said: 'I will pursue, I will overtake, I will divide the spoil. My lust shall be satisfied upon them, I will draw my sword, my hand shall destroy them.”
“Is that from the bible?” asked Deb, now at the bottom of the stairs.
“Yes,” he replied. “It’s also from Bathsheba, the song from the Ladybugs’ spotted album.”
Andrews returned to Atlanta in the airflivver, a picture of Pearl Kerrigan added to the file in his lap. He mind was busy going over what he had learned and Deb didn’t intrude into his thoughts by talking—at least not very much. While there was no doubt that Kerrigan was a nut and a danger, there wasn’t anything in her garage or her home, which the Sheriff had gotten a warrant to search, to indicate that she was capable of being the threat that he was investigating. There was nothing to indicate that she knew anything about explosives for instance, and somebody had blown up the Ladybugs’ dirigible.
“Home again, home again, Jiggedy-Jogg,” said Deb, banking the airflivver in a dive toward the top of the Biltmore. Though she came in fast, she set the vehicle down on the rooftop without the slightest bump. Andrews looked at his watch. It was only 4:45.
“Good luck Agent Andrews.”
“You too, Kid,” he said, climbing out the hatch. “Keep it flying.”
He found Wright in her room and filled her in on all the details of his investigation.
“I’m inclined to agree with you,” said Wright. “This is one more nut to worry about, but not the one who caused the explosion. On the other hand, if Kerrigan is going to do something, tonight’s concert would be the most likely.”
“Not just the concert. The girls could be in danger anyplace in Atlanta.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t have let them out at all while we were here, but no harm, no foul. They won’t be out anymore today. I think we should change the route and time to the stadium and then immediately head for the airport afterwards.”
“No argument,” said Andrews.
They left for the concert at 6:30, half an hour earlier than originally planned, and took two cars escorted by two unmarked police cars, rather than airflivvers. Andrews rode in the car with Alexa Rothman and four other tour staff members while Wright rode with the Ladybugs. Andrews felt an unexpected letdown and chided himself for not keeping his mind on the task at hand.
Atlanta stadium, home of Major League Baseball’s Atlanta Belles had nearly the same capacity that Shea Stadium had, but it was not nearly as high or imposing. Andrews was happy for the fact, as it presented fewer places from which a sniper could shoot down upon the stage. He made several tours of the upper levels anyway before checking the protection backstage. He saw Piffy, looking thoughtful as she sat on a stool tapping her toe. When she saw him though, she turned and presented him with her back. Was she angry at him? He hadn’t seen her in almost forty-eight hours, but that wasn’t his fault.
“Hey handsome,” said a voice. It was Ruth.
“Hello. Everything all set?”
“We’re ready to go. You look like you have a tummy ache. Security issues?”
“No, nothing like that,” he assured her. “It’s um… well, is Piffy upset about something?”
“As a matter of fact, she was talking about how much she misses you.” Ruth reached up to put one hand on his right cheek and gently kissed his left. “She just wants to give us some time together.”
He shook his head, uncomprehendingly.
“It’s time for us to go.”
“Break a leg.”
The group stepped onstage before 55,000 screaming fans and performed the same set that they had at Shea. Andrews made one more trip around the top of the stadium but could find nothing to worry about there, so he moved do
wn to the front of the stage, watching the crowd. Police security was tight but there were a lot of women to watch.
The band had started in on Beneath the Denim and Andrews turned to watch. He, like millions of others, had often imagined that the Ladybugs were singing directly to him, but he had never felt it as much as he did in the next few moments. Ruth was busy drumming, but her eyes were on him. Piffy, microphone in hand, turned her head to the side and sang directly to him before dancing back across the stage. Steffie stroked the neck of her bass and licked her lips while watching him with half closed eyes. Penny slowly spread her legs as she did the splits right in front of him, exposing a very tiny pair of black silk panties beneath the lace petticoats she wore as a skirt. He looked around him, wondering suddenly if the other 55,000 people in the stadium could tell they were performing just for him. But then of course, he was just being silly. Another quick look told him they were not playing to him but to the whole stadium. He marched away to make another sweep of the police checkpoints.
The concert had gone off without a hitch and with no sign of any danger. The entourage took the same four cars to the airport and climbed aboard the Rosalie Morton, which soared into the air, heading toward Minnesota. A late dinner was served in the dining room and Andrews sat at the table with the girls and two ship’s officers, but the only one who paid any attention to him was Ruth. They chatted and he smiled and she kissed him again on the cheek before saying goodnight.
Andrews woke up in the middle of the night. At first he didn’t know what had awakened him. He only knew that he felt really, really good. As awareness dawned on his blood-starved brain, he realized that a mouth was touching him where no mouth ever had before. He saw a form moving around beneath his bed blanket and felt a face pressed to his crotch. He arched his back as someone literally sucked the life from him.
“My God, that was amazing,” he whispered. “But I thought you were going to let Ruth have a chance to get to know me.”
The shape beneath the blanket moved upward and then a face framed in a huge mass of red hair appeared.
“If that chick can’t close the deal, it’s time to step aside and let someone else have a try.” Penny Dreadful smiled and wiped her chin with the back of her hand. “Now shut up. It’s my turn.”
Chapter Nine: Doric House
Lying on the bed, Andrews watched as Penny got up and walked naked across the small cabin. In the confined space, she looked truly larger than life. She was tall. She could not be called a small woman in any sense of the word, but there was not a pound that was not exactly where it should have been. She had the kind of hourglass figure that he had read about in novels. Wide eyes and a patrician nose gave her a face that while beautiful, would never be described as cute or even pretty. She was Junoesque, an image that was enhanced when the moonlight streaming into the window turned her pale skin the color of plaster. While her body had not a single tropical fish or other tattoo, it was adorned. Everywhere Piffy had a piercing, save her bellybutton, a bodily feature that her band mate did not share, Penny had two or more.
“This was a surprise to say the least,” said Andrews.
“A good one?”
“Yes. I didn’t know if you were interested?”
“Hopefully that question has been adequately answered. Just because I sing about women loving each other doesn’t mean I’m not interested in men… a man anyway.”
“You don’t prefer women?”
“Most women today have female lovers. They just pretend they don’t. That was the point of my song. But I’m reaching that age where family life starts to have more appeal. Besides, sex is like buying an automobile. If you want something really sporty, you have to be able to handle a stick.”
Andrews laughed.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” she asked.
“Very much. You are a talented lover.”
“I know I am. I’m always satisfied.”
She stepped back to the cot and gave him a deep kiss. He allowed his hands to run down the length of her soft, smooth body.
“Good night,” she said, starting for the door.
“Where are your clothes?”
“Didn’t bring any,” she smiled. Then she stepped naked into the brightly lit hall beyond and closed the door after her.
Andrews fell back asleep and when he woke, light was streaming in from outside. He got up and looked out the window to see that they were on the tarmac at Minneapolis-St. Paul. Three hundred yards away was another massive dirigible sporting the blue Pan Am globe. Shaving and showering in the small but functional bathroom, he got dressed and reported to the portside lounge for his morning meeting with Wright.
“Good morning,” he said.
In reply, Wright held up a newspaper. “Ladybugs Triumph!” was plastered across the top in two inch type and the entire front page was filled with stories of the tour. Down near the bottom right hand corner though was a picture of him. He stepped over and took the paper from his partner’s hand and read the caption.
“The Ladybugs’ valiant protector, Science Agent John Andrews. Shit.”
“Could be worse. Could be ‘lover,’ ‘boy-toy,’ ‘backdoor man’.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying this. Brussels is going to want to pull me off the case now.”
“Probably, but they can’t. They’re not going to tarnish the reputation of their only male Special Agent. Besides, I’m telling them in my report that it will be an advantage for us.”
“How will it be an advantage?”
“It gives our would-be assassin another target.”
Breakfast was served aboard the Rosalie Morton, though only the band, crew, and the Science Police agents took part, the airship crew having much work to do maintaining and resupplying the great craft. It was a breakfast buffet—a long table covered with warming trays full of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages, cottage fries, French toast, pancakes, and cheese blintzes. As Andrews gathered his choice of morning foods together, he found himself with Penny on one side and Steffie on the other. The former was wearing a tee shirt and bell bottom jeans, her platform sandals making her taller than Andrews, while the latter wore a red and white striped halter top, matching hot pants, and red knee-high boots. Steffie leaned over to look at Penny’s plate just as she was adding a second scoop of fried potatoes.
“You sure you need that much?”
“There’s not that much food on my plate,” replied Penny.
“There’s a lot of ass in those jeans though.”
“Bitch, don’t even…”
“Ladies, ladies,” said Andrews. “Please don’t fight.”
“You’ll get yours later, you boney-assed bitch,” said Penny, turning on her heel and walking to the table.
“You’re not her protector now, just because she gave you a little face.”
“I’m just trying to enjoy my breakfast.” Andrews added two slices of bacon to his plate and then put two on Steffie’s. “Here, you need to keep up your strength.”
Returning to his seat, Andrews directed most of his attention at his food. Did everyone have to know exactly what went on in his room at night? He supposed that was what life was like for Evan Larkin. Even now, he had the peculiar feeling that people were watching him, but whenever he looked at someone else at the table, they weren’t. They were talking about the concert the previous night or the upcoming concert in Bloomington. They weren’t even looking at him. The more he thought about it though, the more he decided they weren’t looking at him on purpose. He finished his food and left the dining room, taking the stairs down to the lowest level of the ship and then exiting though the boarding ramp to the tarmac.
The massive golden dirigible was at the end of a long row of similar craft; the Pan Am was the closest. The local police had set up a perimeter around the Rosalie Morton, but to Andrews’ mind, it should have been larger in diameter.
“Are we safe?”
Andrews turned to find Ruth behind him. She had on jeans a
nd a tee shirt.
“I think so,” he said, turning around to scan the skyline.
“You seemed unusually quiet at breakfast, and you seem a little odd now.”
“I’m just feeling very weird.”
“About last night?”
“About everything,” he said. “This is all a bit disturbing. I think I was better off being celibate.”
“Well, that’s a bell that can’t be un-rung.”
“How do you feel about it?”
“About last night?”
“About everything.”
“I have to admit, it’s a very strange situation,” she said. “On the other hand, practically everything we get involved in turns out to be a strange situation. I have to say though, oddly enough, I find you even more attractive than I did before.”
He sighed. “It might be easier if you didn’t.”
“Maybe you should break your nose or something. Then you wouldn’t be so pretty.”
He smiled.
“I’ll tell you what. Meet me for dinner tonight and then we’ll watch a movie. No expectations beyond that.”
“A movie?”
“I know what you’re going to say. I have my own movie projector. We’ll watch it in your room. I’ll arrange dinner too.”
“That sounds nice.”
“Then it’s a date.”
It was almost noon before the group of six airflivvers arrived to take the band and their staff to the Doric House where they would be staying. By that time a crowd of thousands had formed all along one side of the airship. When the Ladybugs came down the boarding ramp, they waved to the crowd, which immediately burst into a cacophony of cheers.
“Let’s go shake some hands and sign some autographs,” said Ep!phanee.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Andrews.
“Our fans came all the way out to see us. You’ll be there to keep us safe.”
“Come on, big boy,” said Penny, taking his arm.
The crowd grew louder and more excited as they approached. Some started jumping up and down. Some were shedding tears. The vast majority were girls of about fifteen to twenty-five, though sprinkled in among them were women of all ages, and there were quite a few women who had little girls with them. Piffy and the others began moving along the edge of the crowd with practiced skill, signing album covers, books, notepads, and the occasional breast. Janet Shaw followed them with a movie camera pressed to her shoulder. Andrews carefully watched the crowd.
Tesla's Stepdaughters Page 7
