The Blue-Haired Bombshell
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Raves for Zach’s Previous Adventures:
‘‘No one who got two paragraphs into this dark, droll, downright irresistible hard-boiled-dick novel could ever bear to put it down until the last heart pounding moment. Zach is off and running on his toughest case yet, and there is no way he is leaving us behind, no matter what the danger. This is futuristic pulp for the thinking reader, the one who enjoys a good chuckle, some mental exercise, and the occasional inside joke. Sit down with The Plutonium Blonde and a cold one and just see when you manage to pull your peepers away from the page again. On second thought, John Zakour and Lawrence Ganem are too damn good to be interrupted for something trivial; skip the cold one and save yourself a trip to the can.’’ —SF Site
‘‘I had a great deal of fun with The Plutonium Blonde and have been looking forward to the sequel ever since. Well, it’s finally here, and it’s a good one. This is more humor than detective story, although Johnson and HARV are a pretty good pair of investigators as well as downright funny. If you like your humor slap-stick and inventive, you need look no further for a good fix.’’ —Chronicle
‘‘It’s no mystery what kind of novel John Zakour and Lawrence Ganem’s Doomsday Brunette is. The title says it all. The story is hard-boiled science fiction at its pulpy best. Zakour and Ganem’s Zachary Johnson novels—which include The Plutonium Blonde and the forthcoming The Radioactive Redhead—are laugh-out-loud, action-packed mystery thrillers that both revere and lampoon the golden age of pulp fiction.’’
—The Barnes and Noble Reviews
Don’t miss Zach’s first four adventures:
THE PLUTONIUM BLONDE
THE DOOMSDAY BRUNETTE
THE RADIOACTIVE REDHEAD
THE FROST-HAIRED VIXEN
The Blue-Haired Bombshell
Copyright © 2007 by John Zakour
All Rights Reserved.
Cover art by Michael Koelsh.
DAW Book Collectors No. 1424.
DAW Books are distributed by Penguin Group (USA).
All characters and events in this book are fictitious.
Any resemblance to persons living or dead
is strictly coincidental.
If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as ‘‘unsold and destroyed’’ to the publisher. In such case neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this ‘‘stripped book.’’
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First Paperback Printing, December 2007
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DAW TRADEMARK REGISTERED
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—MARCA REGISTRADA
HECHO EN U.S.A.
PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.
http://us.penguingroup.com
To my wife Olga and son Jay
for putting up with me while I write these things.
And to everybody who attended Comic Con 2007
because it was just so cool.
Acknowledgments
Once again my thanks to Betsy Wolheim at DAW for giving me a chance to write this and the next two books. Thanks Betsy. I also would like to thank Debra Euler and Joshua Starr at DAW for all the help they gave me on this book.
Of course I’d need to thank my agent Joshua for doing all those things agents do. I also need thank my ex-co-writer Larry Ganem, I will always be grateful for Larry for helping me get this series rolling. I hope I improve with each new book.
Finally, I have to thank all the people that contributed (directly or indirectly) to characters in this book: Olga, Carolina, Natalia, Mariela, Mireya, Carlos, Carlos, Andres, Tang, Shannon, Michelle, Mary Martha, Mary, Steve, Harris, Tom, Ron, Elena, April and others I probably forgot. (Don’t worry, Jay, you’ll be getting your own character soon.)
Chapter 1
The vine twisted itself around my neck, squeezing tighter and tighter. No way I was going to let the holographic epitaph on my tombstone read:
ZACHARY NIXON JOHNSON
AUGUST 15, 2022-DECEMBER 1, 2062
THE LAST PI ON EARTH
WHACKED BY A PLANT
To make matters worse, I hadn’t even had my morning cup of joe yet.
‘‘Come to my lab and pick up your new gun,’’ my good buddy Dr. Randy Pool had said. He never bothered to mention that he’d added an arboretum to his lab and populated it with killer plants. That’s what I get for hanging out with mad mega-geniuses.
My holographic assistant, HARV, appeared before me. Looking down his nose at me and shaking his head, he said, ‘‘Well, this is another fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into.’’
‘‘Me! You should have warned me that Randy’s lab was being overrun by killer plants!’’
HARV shook his balding artificial head again. ‘‘Zach, one, these are plants. They can’t exactly run. Two, since Randy modified his computer systems, I no longer have complete access. Randy built me, so he is the one person who can construct defenses to keep me out. It’s really quite impressive.’’ HARV paused for a nano in order to let me process what he had said. ‘‘Three, they are defensive plants. So technically they are just defending themselves-—it’s what they do. If you read your e-mail from Dr. Pool you’d know this . . .’’
I tugged on the vine that had a death grip on my throat. DOS it was strong! ‘‘They’re defending themselves quite well,’’ I told HARV.
HARV nodded in agreement. ‘‘Yes. They are very good at what they do.’’
Another vine grappled onto my left ankle, snaking up my leg.
‘‘Can you help?’’ I asked, struggling to pull the vine off me.
HARV shrugged. ‘‘Being a hologram, I’m not exactly built to get physical. Though I am working on it.’’
HARV is wired directly into my brain through a lens in my optic nerve. It wasn’t a pleasant experience to go through and it hasn’t always been a joyride sharing my brain with him. Still, there are instances when having him hardwired to me is advantageous. I thought this should have been one of those times.
‘‘In the past, you’ve allowed me to amplify and us
e the electromagnetic energy from my body as a weapon.’’
‘‘True,’’ HARV agreed. ‘‘But the new computer modifications Randy has done to his lab are also limiting our interface.’’
Okay, maybe this wasn’t going to be one of those times. This meant HARV was able to critique my performance but not help in the least. Randy always insists that I’m his test pilot; right now I felt more like his crash test dummy.
‘‘I can give you the weakness of the grape plant that this plant is based on though,’’ HARV said. HARV won’t admit it, but he has a deep-seated longing to be useful. HARV’s eyes blinked for a few nanos. ‘‘They are very susceptible to cold.’’
‘‘Great! Can you lower the temperature in the building?’’ I asked.
‘‘Yes,’’ HARV said.
Finally, a small spark of hope.
‘‘Of course, I can only lower the temperature five degrees, not nearly enough to make a difference,’’ HARV added, smothering that spark.
That made it clear that HARV wasn’t going to be much help. Time to search for other options. I looked around. I was in the arboretum of my more than slightly eccentric, mad scientist buddy Doctor Randy Pool’s lab. Until a few moments ago I had no idea that the lab even had an arboretum. Randy was mainly an electronic and virtual kind of guy. I didn’t know he even had an interest in botany.
Like everything else in Randy’s lab, the arboretum was first class, over the top and through the roof, with a touch of geek. It was a room domed in clear Plexiglas. When I say room, I mean BIG room, at least as large as my house. Not sure how I hadn’t noticed this before. There was a nice, paved path traversing the room that was lined with vines and dotted with benches to sit on. Holographic birds (at least I assumed they were holograms) flew back and forth as crickets chirped in the background. I knew the crickets weren’t real, as they were chirping the top 400 hits from the last hundred years. (Hearing crickets chirp ‘‘Hound Dog’’ is almost as surreal as being attacked by a plant.) Unlike the main area of Randy’s lab, this area was designed to be quiet and serene. This was meant to be a nice place for one to sit and collect their thoughts. Except, of course, for the killer grapevines. Though I was fairly certain these weren’t the norm.
I glanced around the room. Randy was there, but he’d be no help as he was completely entwined by a vine. The vine had him so wrapped up I could barely make out his red hair peeking through the top of the plant. Another plant had a tall, blue-haired Asian woman in its clutches. Even with her mostly entangled in plant vines, I could tell she was easy on the eyes. From the blue hair I knew she was probably from the Moon. A Mooner, as we call them here on Earth. The woman was struggling, but to no avail.
I needed to do something and do it fast. If I had my gun I could pop it into my hand and blow the plants away. (Now that’s something I never thought I’d say.) Of course, if I had my gun I wouldn’t be here. The reason I was visiting Randy today was to pick up my gun, as he had just finished its latest firmware upgrade. I’ve never been a fan of guns. They are noisy and can be messy. Still, this was one of those times that reinforced why I like to carry a high-powered Colt 4500 up my sleeve. Sometimes it bothered me that I felt so insecure without a weapon up my sleeve. Of course, now I could see why.
Another vine wrapped around my other leg. That reminded me that while I was without my gun I had supplemented my weapons with a handy, good old-fashioned knife I kept in a right ankle holster. (I find I’m much happier if I don’t ponder very long over the fact that I always need to have an extra weapon on me. I won’t even start to touch on the fact that my underwear is reinforced with buckyball-enhanced carbon steel.)
HARV looked at me. ‘‘You’re thinking about your love for weapons again, aren’t you?’’
‘‘It’s more a need, not a love,’’ I said.
HARV pointed to my right leg. ‘‘You probably should go for your knife before the vine goes for your arms. You’re just fortunate that vines haven’t been designed to deal with such well-armed opponents yet.’’
That didn’t make a lot of sense to me, but then again neither did the entire concept of attack plants. I stretched my left arm down toward my right ankle while trying to pull my leg up away from the vine. I had to give Randy props; he had engineered these plants to be quite strong. I was glad my girlfriend Electra had been making me practice yoga with her lately. It may not be the most manly way for a tough guy to pass the time, but the added flexibility was coming in handy. (Plus Electra, being a champion kickboxer, could beat the stuffing out of me. So if she says something is good for me, I don’t question her.)
Despite my added flexibility, my knife still remained a couple of centimeters from my extended grasp. I took a deep breath and stretched my arm out as far as I could. I extended my fingers. I felt the tendons in my hands tightening. I was less than half a centimeter away, but that half centimeter might as well have been half a kilometer. Out of reach was out of reach. As the plant tightened its grip on my throat, I was starting to think I was out of luck.
Offed by a plant . . . never thought that was how I was going to go. On the bright side, all the hit men, assassins, killer bots, and mutant thugs who tried to do me in in the past were going to be really embarrassed when they heard a grapevine sent me to my maker. At least I could take a little consolation in that.
Just as I thought all was lost, something unexpected happened. My knife popped up from my ankle holster into my outstretched hand.
‘‘That was me,’’ HARV said. ‘‘I magnetized the left wrist portion of your underarm.’’
‘‘What do you know, you are a useful supercomputer after all,’’ I kidded HARV.
My first move was to grab the part of the vine nearest my neck with my right hand, pulling it to make it nice and rigid. I slit it. I slipped the dead vine off my throat and threw it to the ground. It felt good to breathe freely again. It felt even better to be wielding the knife. I’m not thrilled with what that says about me.
‘‘I thought Randy’s new computer system was limiting you?’’ I said, bending over to slit the vine from around my right leg.
‘‘It was,’’ HARV said. ‘‘But I found a work-around.’’
With my right leg now free, I turned toward my left. The vine swung at me with a free tendril. I caught the swinging tendril with my right hand before it could do any damage. Pulling the vine toward me, I cut it when it became taut. The plant may have caught me off guard the first time. That wasn’t going to happen again. I haven’t lived this long, doing what I do, by falling for the same trick twice.
Like my old mentor would always say, ‘‘Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice and I’ll be dead.’’ Okay, she wasn’t a good poet, but that lady could handle her whiskey.
I bent down and sliced the vine off my left leg. I was free to spring into action. I noticed that the vines were in motorized pots. I hit the top of the pot with a sidekick, knocking it over. I wanted to make sure this plant wasn’t going to be coming after me.
Brandishing my knife, I raced toward my trapped friend and his shapely cohort. I made a snap decision to free Randy first. I know they usually say ladies first, but Randy was not only closer, he was struggling much harder. Besides, Randy may be overly eccentric, but he’s one of the greatest minds on Earth. The world needed him. It eased my psyche that for her part, the woman didn’t seem worried at all. I would bet my 1986 Mets poster that the woman was more able to take care of herself in this situation than Randy was.
Moving to free Randy, I noticed out of the corner of my right eye that the potted grapevines in the back of the room that had been acting like grapevines should act were now heading toward me. When I woke up this morning, if someone had bet me ten credits that I was going to be chased by grapes today, I probably would have taken them up on it. When you’re a P.I., there are times you need to gamble. I like to think that when the computer chips are down I know exactly when to hold ’em, when to fold ’em, and when to go for my gun.
<
br /> The plants were rolling toward me and gaining ground. I didn’t turn around. I didn’t have to. I heard them progressing toward me, their vines snapping on the ground as they closed in. This called for a little strategy on my part. I was going to have to outsmart the plants. Quite frankly, if I couldn’t outthink a plant, I didn’t deserve my next birthday.
I stopped cold in my tracks. Not because I was scared—I wanted to throw the plants off. Sure enough, they rolled right on by me, one on each side. I could have sworn one of them flipped me the bird as it rolled past then skidded to a stop. Not giving the plants time to react, I dove between them with my arms outstretched like I was an old-fashioned plane. I hit them each high on the bases, clotheslining them and knocking them to the ground.
‘‘You shouldn’t dive like that with a knife in your hand,’’ HARV lectured inside my head.
‘‘Yes, Mother,’’ I said.
I sprung up to my feet and ran toward Randy. Reaching him, I grabbed the vine that had a pythonlike grip on his throat and slit it. Randy pulled the excess grape parts away from his throat.
‘‘Are you DOSing crazy!’’ Randy screamed at me, his pale skin now as red as his hair.
Not exactly the thanks I was expecting. I realized he had been struggling to free himself so he could stop me from slicing up his plants, not because he was worried about his own health.
‘‘Uh, maybe,’’ I said.
‘‘Plants stand down,’’ Randy said in a firm, yet still geeky (and angry) voice.
The plant released its grip on Randy. I looked over at Randy’s companion; she was also now free.
Randy dusted himself off, glaring at me all the while. ‘‘Don’t you read the e-mails I send?’’
I shook my head. ‘‘I skim them.’’