3rd World Products, Inc. Book 7

by Ed Howdershelt

  Looking rather shocked and mystified, she asked in an outraged tone, “Then ... then she just ... handed me off to you ... without even knowing who the hell you were?!"

  "Same answer. Sorry ‘bout that. If you're through being all freaked out, could we get down to business?"

  Her gaze narrowed. “What business?"

  "Jenny said, ‘Go help her nail that bastard and clean up her life.’ That business. Or do you need another few minutes to get your head back on straight?"

  She took a cell phone and flicked it on with her thumb, stared at the screen, whacked the gadget on her palm, and poked the ‘on’ button again as she swore in a heartfelt manner.

  "Hold one,” I said, touching her arm to stop her from banging the phone again, “Flitter, let her make her call, please. Put a privacy field around her, too."

  A translucent grey box appeared around Donna. It was just as well the box was soundproof; I saw her scream just as wholeheartedly as she'd cussed a moment before.

  With a hand cupped to my ear, I grinningly mouthed, “Huh? What?” as her hand flashed out and met no resistance, plunging through the field. She froze, staring at her arm.

  I reached to take her hand, pulled her forward a bit so her head was on my side of the field, and said, “It's just a fancy kind of phone booth. Go ahead and make your call."

  She was trembling and her eyes were big, but Donna took a breath, nodded, and sat upright within the field booth. With a shaky hand, she poked the numbers on her phone and lifted it to her ear, glancing rather starkly at me as she listened.

  Putting my feet on the console, I opened the cooler, took out a dr pepper and a can of tea, and offered them to her. She stared at the open cooler for a moment, then at me. I wiggled the bottle and can in a ‘come on, pick one’ gesture. She almost hesitantly reached through the field and took the can of tea.

  Someone answered her call and Donna's attention focused on her conversation, which seemed to start rather stridently. As she set her unopened tea on the deck, I turned away from her and keyed up a field screen to check my email and get an update on a new Atlantic storm they'd named Lisa.

  Three hurricanes had already pounded Florida in the last two months or so. The last one—Jeanne, they'd named it—had been bad news, indeed, marching right across the the state.

  The weather lady showed Lisa's location and the aimless, wandering track the storm had made so far, then she added the northward directional cone anticipated by the experts.

  Yeah, right. With the last three storms, their projections hadn't contained a helluva lot of accuracy until the storms had been two days from shore. In fact, right up until a little more than a day before Jeanne had made landfall, they'd projected her to spin sharply northward and miss Florida altogether.

  I glanced at Donna. Even as she stared wonderingly at my field screen, she was having a very animated conversation with someone, likely Jenny. She suddenly stopped talking, stared at her phone and exclaimed something, then put the phone back to her ear.

  After a moment, I saw Donna say something like, “Yeah, but...” then she listened some more. Maybe ten seconds later, she sighed, turned off her phone, and sat with her forearms on her knees for a time, then she looked at me.

  Her gaze was critically appraising. I told the flitter to cancel the privacy booth and asked Donna, “How'd your call go?"

  Reaching to touch the air where the field had been, she mumbled, “Ah ... Okay. I guess."

  "Then put your right hand on the flitter's screen and say your name, Donna. Last name first."

  She turned away from staring over the side to stare at me and asked, “What? Why?"

  "It'll match your prints with your military records."

  She gazed at the console screen and said, “Oh. Is that what you meant about proof?"

  "Yup."

  She placed her hand on the screen and said, “Perrin, Donna Louise,” and I told the flitter to match her up. When her military records and picture appeared, I said, “Good enough. You're you. Now tell it your dad's name and everything you can remember about bank names, stocks, bonds, and all that."

  She did that, too, clarifying or spelling where necessary, and at the end of about fifteen minutes, she said, “That's about all I can remember, I think."

  Nodding, I said, “Should be enough for a good start. Flitter, run a search on that data and show us the most comprehensive financial report you can manage on this lady, starting with the month before her inheritance, please."

  Yeah, it was all there or it damned sure seemed to be. Piles of it. Miles of details. Screenful after screenful of financial data. I studied the stuff for a moment, then said to hell with it.

  "Flitter, boil it down for me. What was her net worth before her inheritance, after her inheritance, and what's she worth tonight? Try to make it all fit readably on one screen, please."

  "I can present approximations,” said the flitter, and did so.

  Before: $121,302.41.

  After inheritance: $3,884,397.87.

  Tonight: $704,661.18.

  "Damn!” I muttered, “They've been busy little thieves! The last two months account for almost all transactions. When did you get back in town?"

  "Last week. I got here Sunday. Monday a guy called about buying some stock I'd never heard of. He said Blaine bought a thousand shares. I asked Blaine about it Monday night and got a load of bullshit, so I did a little research over the next two days. On Wednesday I discovered he'd bought the boat, the Corvette, and the SUV using one of my accounts. I confronted him and he gave me more bullshit about borrowing the money because he was having to wait for some investment checks to clear. That afternoon, he left for what he called an appointment. I followed him to a house in New Port Richey. Karen met him at the door in a red and black teddy."

  "Hm. I wonder what her hold on Blaine is? What's to keep him from dumping her, too? He doesn't really seem the type for undying love or gratitude."

  Donna coughed a snide laugh. “No, he doesn't. You're probably wondering what the hell I saw in him."

  I met her sheepish, grinning gaze as I considered that. No, I didn't give a rat's ass what she'd seen in him. Knowing that wouldn't be of any particular use in retrieving her money.

  "No,” I said, “Not really. That isn't useful info right now."

  Maybe she'd been in the mood to talk. Her eyes hardened a bit and Donna sat rather stiffly upright, then she reached for her unopened can of tea and used opening it and taking a sip to avoid looking at me.

  Speaking softly, she said, “You probably think I'm an idiot."

  Laughing as softly as she'd spoken, I replied, “Oh, no! Huh-uh! I've been there, too, ma'am. Once upon a time I fell hard for a gorgeous blonde and conned myself into thinking I could somehow find a way to fix an alcoholic."

  Glancing at her, I added, “No need to guess how that turned out. The problem on the table is how to get your money back. I think I have at least a partial solution. Flitter, regarding the accounts you just researched, please adjust ownership of those accounts so that Donna is the only registered owner or user and have new paperwork sent to Donna's home. Show us your progress on the screen."

  Progress, indeed. What seemed to me to be virtually everything we'd been shown scrolled on the console screen for something like ten seconds, then stopped with a display of the final figures. Donna was suddenly worth $2,943,806.11.

  I said, “The post-inheritance number was 3.8 million. That figure seems a little short, flitter."

  The flitter said, “I adjusted accounts regarding funds. This figure encompasses only unencumbered liquid assets."

  Donna asked, “That means cars, boats, and houses aren't included, right?"

  "Yes,” said the flitter.

  I asked, “Can you adjust ownership registrations on those items, as well? And add Donna's name on the lawyer's safe deposit boxes, so she won't have to get warrants to search them?"

  "Yes."

  As Donna gave me a sidelong ‘wh
at the hell?’ sort of look, I asked, “Would you please do so, then?"

  "Yes, Ed."

  "Thank you, flitter."

  Registration and charge-receipt changes appeared on the screen for a Corvette, an SUV, a hunting rifle, two pistols, a trailer, a house, a big motorcycle—which made Donna mutter, “I didn't know about that bike."—and a twenty-acre undeveloped property in North Carolina.

  All of that brought the total up to $3,681,917.36.

  Donna whispered, “My God, is this for real?!"

  "Yup. All that stuff's officially in your name now, but we're still a couple hundred thousand short. Flitter, where did that money go?"

  "Mr. Perrin made several cash purchases."

  Sighing for Donna's benefit, I said, “Well, I kinda figured that, flitter. Assume that I wanted more specific info, please, and put the details of those purchases on the screen."

  Donna snickered. “Not quite a perfect system, huh?"

  Shrugging, I answered, “Best available at the time. The one I had before left me to start her own business."

  Laughing softly, Donna started to say something, then turned from the screen to stare at me. “It what?"

  Sipping my dr pepper, I said, “My first flitter computer outgrew her job as my driver and I had to let her go. She started her own business."

  Blinking as if unsure whether to believe me, Donna again started to say something, stopped, and simply stared at me.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Apparently Donna decided I was kidding. She grinned, chuckled, and leaned back in her seat a bit. “You really had me going, there,” she pitched her voice lower and mimicked, ‘I had to fire her,’ then chuckled again.

  "That's not what I said."

  Blinking at me, Donna asked, “Huh? Same thing, isn't it?"

  "Nope. It's not even close. I didn't fire her, Donna, I just let her leave to be on her own."

  Her eyes got a little bigger. “You mean ... there's a ... a supercomputer ... uh ... running loose ... somewhere?"

  Laughing, I said, “'Running loose’ isn't what I'd call it. Like I told you, she started her own business after she moved out."

  She glanced at the console and asked, “Why do you call that one ‘her’ and this one ‘it'? Shouldn't this one be a ‘her', too, since she's running your ... uh ... flitter?"

  Sipping my dr pepper seemed to remind her she had a can of tea. She sipped, too, as I said, “No. My last flitter computer constructed a female persona. She made herself look like a seventies movie star, in fact. This one is still an ‘it'."

  Eyeing the console for a moment, Donna asked, “Isn't replacing a flitter computer kind of expensive?"

  I settled for the shortest possible explanation. With a shrug, I said, “I'm in an update program. You know, that was a pretty hairy stunt you pulled tonight."

  "Are you about to ask a bunch of ‘what if's', like, ‘What if he'd gotten lucky with that SUV?’”

  "Oh, hell, no,” I chuckled, “That was simple admiration, ma'am. You set him up and knocked him down, and it would have worked even if Karen hadn't left town. After he'd tried to kill you, chances would be pretty good you'd get most of your stuff back in court sooner or later. All we did just now was short-cut the bureaucracy."

  She'd been sipping her tea. Lowering the can, Donna asked, “Can your flitter tell us what's happening with Blaine?"

  "Flitter,” I said, “See if you can locate Donna's husband, please."

  The flitter instantly replied, “He's in the custody of the Pasco County Sheriff's Department."

  "Damn,” muttered Donna, “That was quick. Are you sure?"

  "Yes,” said the flitter.

  Glancing at me, she asked, “Uh ... how do you know, flitter?"

  "He attempted to use a credit card to make a long distance telephone call from a commercial telephone within the jail facility."

  "Was it a call to North Carolina?” asked Donna.

  "Yes."

  The flitter's answers seemed to irritate her. I chuckled as I put a hand on her arm.

  "Gotta be specific, ma'am. If you want to know whether he got through to her, that's what you have to ask it."

  With an exasperated sigh, she asked, “Was that call to North Carolina successful, flitter?"

  "No."

  "Then how do you know he's in custody?"

  "That credit card was recorded as personal property when he was processed for incarceration."

  Donna closed her eyes and took a breath, then asked, “Would it be too much to ask what they've arrested him for?"

  "No, it would not."

  Muttering a soft, but heartfelt, “Goddammit!” Donna took another breath and asked in a saccharine-sweet tone, “What did they arrest him for, please, flitter?"

  The list of charges against Perrin ranged from attempted vehicular homicide and fleeing the scene of an accident to speeding and four counts of running stop signs. As an added bonus, the deputies had found one of the pistols he'd recently bought under his seat in the SUV.

  "Hm,” I said, “There's some kind of a grey zone in this state where using vehicles to kill people is concerned. They never just call it plain ol’ murder."

  "Doesn't matter,” said Donna, “He's stuck there for a while and I'll have time to get a few things done.” Guzzling the last of the tea in her can, she sighed deeply, stood up, and said, “And I guess I'd better get moving. Does Jenny have your number?"

  "Yeah, she had me pegged the minute I walked in."

  Grinning, Donna said, “You know what I mean."

  Returning her grin, I nodded. “Yeah, she has it."

  "Good. If you'll drop me off across the road from the bar, I can stagger in looking worse than this.” She gestured at her clothes. “I'll tell a story about hiding in the woods, settle with the cops about wrecking the Corvette, and tomorrow I'll start doing whatever I have to do to make sure Blaine can't touch my world again in any way whatsoever."

  "Don't forget to fill in your hidey-hole, ma'am. Wouldn't do to let the cops find it and decide you set him up. He'd still be in jail for the same reasons, but they'd look hard at you, too."

  Shaking her head slightly, Donna said, “Already done. I backfilled the hole I used and created one in a brush pile for the cops to find when they check out my story. It's over a hundred yards into the woods from the real hole."

  "Cute. How'd you manage to avoid leaving tracks?"

  She grinned. “I didn't. Those brush piles didn't exist until Tuesday. Jenny owns the land and the land's for sale. She hired some hard-luck guy from the bar to bush-hog some of the underbrush on Monday. He and his family cleaned up the area on Tuesday. I helped them for a while on Tuesday afternoon, so my boot tracks are all over the place out there."

  "Ah. Speaking of boots—and camo hunting outfits—why not leave that stuff with me? It wouldn't look right if you got caught with it."

  Glancing at her bag, she said, “I was going to hide it beyond the ... no, you're right. If they check my story, they'll search the area. Okay, you hold the stuff. I'll get rid of it later."

  "Why get rid of it? They're your boots and fatigues and you just got out of the Army, so it's only natural you'd have them. The only thing I saw that wasn't GI-issue was the screen hood. I'll just clean everything and you can get it later."

  Giving me a narrow look, Donna asked, “You're thinking I should come to your place to pick it up?"

  Meeting her gaze, I replied, “I can just as easily drop the stuff at the bar, lady. What I was thinking was that you should probably keep it as a souvenir and a reminder."

  Her gaze narrowed further. “A reminder? You think I'm ever going to let a man have that much control of my life again?"

  "Flitter,” I said, “Follow US-19 south about four miles, please. Donna will tell you where to let her off.” To Donna, I said, “Whatever attracted you to him is likely to make someone else look just as attractive someday."

  As she was about to make a sharp rejoinder, I held up a ha
nd and flatly added, “Save it, ma'am. I still have a noticeable weakness for smart, gorgeous blondes. All that trouble I had with the alcoholic one didn't cure me in the least."

  Thumbing over the side, I said, “We're here. Where's your brush pile?"

  She'd been about to say something again, but even as her mouth opened to say it, her eyes registered our surroundings; the bar across US-19, first, then the woods to our right as she turned to stare around us.

  In a small voice, she asked, “Al ... already?"

  "Yup. Where do you want to be dropped?"

  "Ah...” Looking around more closely, she pointed, “There's the pile over there. Set me down on the other side of it."

  Once we were over the spot she'd selected, she turned to me and seemed to dither for a moment, then thrust out her right hand. I took it.

  Donna said, “I ... well ... Thanks, Ed. Really. Thanks so much for taking care of ... well ... just about everything, I guess. I was expecting to have to spend months trying to...” She sighed and said, “Oh, hell. Thanks, that's all. I really mean it."

  Nodding, I grinned and replied, “It's been kinda fun, ma'am. Don't forget to check out Karen's safe deposit boxes.” Pointing over our handclasp at her bag with my left hand, I said, “And don't forget to call about your laundry."

  She laughed shortly and agreed to do so, then leaned to give me a quick kiss on the cheek and hopped off the deck to the mucky ground near the woodpile. Donna gave me a little wave as the flitter lifted, then she froze and stared as the flitter's field moved beyond her and it seemed to disappear.

  A moment later, she shrugged, grinned and waved again as if on general principles, then moved to crawl into the brush pile. After fully covering herself, she roughly shoved the stuff aside and stood up, examined the scene briefly, then headed toward the highway.

  There seemed to be something odd about her gait, then I realized that Donna was being careful not to march. Her steps were relatively small and she wove slightly along her path.

  In an area where the grass and soil had been churned to muck by machinery and people, she dropped her cell phone face down in front of her foot and punted it gently to send it skidding six feet or so away.