Her eyes wide, she asked in a shrill tone, “What the hell did you do back there and where do you think you're going now?!"
Her tone bugged me. Her demanding, drill sergeant-like posture bugged me. Her attitude in general bugged me. I simply gazed back at her for some moments.
"Well?!” she belted out, “I asked you what the hell you..."
"Donna,” I said quietly, holding up a hand, “Keep it down."
Looking amazed, she bellowed, “Keep it down?! After I just saw a man die in the street?!"
We were about a yard apart. Moving her board closer to mine, Donna fixed me with a sharp gaze from maybe a foot and snapped, “You're not going anywhere until we talk to the cops."
"Yeah? About what, exactly? Tagging along during a chase? You think maybe they need us as witnesses?"
Drawing a tight breath as she glared at me, Donna said, “You're going back there to tell them what you did!"
"Excuse me? What did I do, ma'am? Think about that, then tell me so I'll know what to tell them."
For a long few moments she just glared tensely at me, then she seemed to subside a bit. Her glare didn't fade in the least as she said through clenched teeth, “I know you did something."
"I repeat; what did I do? Be specific, please."
Her hands flapped at her sides as she said, “Oh, hell, I don't know. You stunned him like that dog."
I snapped back, “Prove it.” Pointing at her backpack, I asked, “Do you have your keys with you?"
"What? Yes. Of course I have my keys."
"Good. I'm going home. You go home, too. Goodnight."
With that, I headed for the house again, fully expecting Donna to catch up and give me more grief, but she didn't. As I landed and let myself in, I gave the sky a quick glance and didn't see her. Tuning myself a bit, I couldn't feel her, either.
Tiger met me at the door and peered outside.
"Where is Donna?"
"She had to go home, Tiger. Something came up. I'm going to make a snack before bed. Want some roast beef?"
His attention immediately diverted from the door and he yowled, “Yes! Thank you!” as he headed for the kitchen.
Heh. Too bad that roast beef trick wouldn't work on Donna. I made a sandwich from leftovers and put some meat in Tiger's dish as I considered whether to call the cops and see if they felt they had any reason to talk to me this evening.
Nah. They weren't shy. They'd come calling if they wanted to chat. It wasn't that late; I decided to check email and work a bit to give them an extra few minutes to consider matters.
From email I switched to newsgroups, then to editing a few chapters of one of my books. When no cops had appeared at my door by midnight, I shut down the computer and took a shower, then went to bed.
Chapter Forty-one
Sunday morning began with someone knocking on my front door and ringing my doorbell. It felt like Donna. I checked the bedside clock. Eight-thirty. Damn. And my coffee mug wasn't on the night table; I'd left it aboard the flitter. Damn, again.
Putting on my pants, I padded to the bathroom and took a leak, washed my face and combed my hair, and headed for the kitchen, where I looked out the front window.
As I leaned close to the window to see the porch, Donna apparently had the same idea; she leaned to look in the window at about the same time and we startled each other through the glass.
She let out a short screech and I sighed heavily at the idea of having to deal with her first damned thing in the morning. Apparently she noticed my demeanor. Her eyes narrowed and she went back to my door to poke the doorbell again.
I considered making a coffee and just sitting at the kitchen table until she went away. I really did. Then I went to the door and unlocked it, turned the knob and pulled the door open, and walked back into the kitchen to look for my old white mug that said ‘Kool’ on both sides in the cabinet above the coffee pot.
Found it on the top shelf. It was so old the lid didn't want to stay stuck on it anymore and it didn't have a turnable hole-cover, but it would do until I got my other mug from the flitter.
Donna came in, closed the door behind her, and dropped my Sunday paper on the kitchen table.
I said, “Thanks,” and set about assembling a coffee. “What brings you here at this hour? Did we have plans for the day?"
Sitting down at the table, Donna asked, “Are you going to offer me a coffee?"
"I'll let you make your own however you like it. There's instant and those little teabag things. Look behind the pot."
Tiger appeared in the kitchen doorway and eyed us both appraisingly before saying, “Hello, Donna!"
Glancing around, I saw Donna turn to look at him and sit straight as she erased the irritated look from her face and graciously replied, “Hello, Tiger. How are you this morning?"
"I am well. Are you?"
She grinned and nodded. “Yes, Tiger. I'm well, too."
"Good.” He ambled over near her chair and Donna reached to rub his chin and pet him as she looked at me. I turned back around, finished making my coffee, and took it to the table, for some reason carrying the lid that no longer fit tightly.
"Your turn at the pot."
She eyed my ‘Kool’ mug and commented, “That thing has seen better days, hasn't it?"
Sipping coffee, I agreed, “Yeah. Lots of ‘em."
"Would you rather I just leave, Ed?"
"Depends. What was worth waking me up?"
Looking down at Tiger as she petted him, Donna said, “I waited until eight-thirty. I thought you'd be up by now."
Hm. No point in answering that. I studied the inside of my mug's lid, then the lip of the mug. It was a little worn, that's all. Must be a way to make it fit tightly again. Steph would just morph some new plastic and...
"Ed,” Donna said with a sigh, “I think we need to talk."
'We need to talk.’ Ugh. The dreaded kitchen-table cliche had at last been spoken. I'd kind of expected to hear those words or words very like them from the moment I'd seen Donna on the porch. They seemed to be a component of every woman's arsenal, like a gender-specific bludgeon granted to them sometime around puberty.
Or maybe when they latched onto their first boyfriend? Nah, the boyfriend theory wouldn't wash; I'd heard lifelong lesbians use the same magic words on each other.
I asked, “Are you sure that's a good idea? Hasn't it occurred to you that ‘talking’ is what led us to this point?"
She gave me a droll expression that turned into a flat gaze, then said, “We had a misunderstanding, Ed."
"We had more than one. Last night you came at me a few times as if you thought you were my company commander. Got news, ma'am. You don't outrank me and you aren't my mother, so you don't get to interrogate me or order me around."
Looking startled, she asked, “Is that what this is about? You could have told me to tone it down, you know."
"Very doubtful. What I've seen of you makes me think saying ‘tone it down’ would nearly always make things worse. Beyond that, you were never quite clear about why you were upset. I don't need people around me who get upset without having good reasons."
She bristled and snapped, “You want reasons? Okay, I'll give you a reason. Ed, what you did last night caused that motorcycle to kill that man."
Sipping coffee again, I said, “I don't have a problem with that, Donna. He aimed a gun at me."
"He may only have been trying to scare you off."
"Then he fucked up big time, didn't he?"
"But..."
Sighing, I snapped, “But what, damn it? Scare me off so he could catch up to the car and shoot someone else? How would that have been a better outcome? Either get yourself a coffee and change the subject or hit the road, ma'am. I might still be able to get back to sleep."
Instead of doing either of those things, she sat back in her chair, eyed me intently, and asked, “Hasn't it occurred to you that I may have talked to the police about what I saw?"
"I'd have he
ard from them before now. Seems likely I'll hear from them anyway sooner or later, so it doesn't really matter. And by the way, they aren't police, they're Sheriff's deputies. I don't know what the real difference may be, but they'll correct you instantly if you call them police."
Getting to my feet, I said, “Lock up when you leave,” scooted my chair under the table, and headed for the bedroom with my coffee.
Donna appeared at the bedroom door as I skinned out of my pants. I tossed them on a chair and sat down on the bed to fluff the pillow, then got flat under the sheets.
"Just like that?” she asked tightly, “Discussion over and goodbye Donna?"
Snuggling my face into the pillow, I said, “That discussion's over whether you stay or go."
She laughed sharply, “'Whether I stay or go?!’ You really think I'd stay after what you've said to me?"
Eyeing her, I said, “You can climb into bed and play or go away and let me sleep."
"And what if I don't choose to do either of those things?"
Sighing, I said, “Then I'll stun you and go back to sleep anyway, Cap'n Donna. Ma'am."
I figured chances were something less than fifty percent that she'd stay. Way less than fifty percent, really. More like thirty or so at best. Hell, at that point I figured her only reason for staying would likely be so she could try to wind me up, then walk out. Or maybe just to have the last word on things.
When she snickered, I cracked an eye open to see why. To my surprise, her glare had become a grin. Laughing softly, Donna shook her head in what seemed to be disbelief, then turned and headed down the hallway, followed by Tiger.
Whatever. Good enough. I sent a tendril to gently push the bedroom door shut and re-snuggled my pillow to prepare for another hour or so of sleep.
I was, in fact, on the very edge of falling asleep a few minutes later, when the bedroom door opened and jarred me awake as if I'd fallen a yard or so into the bed.
Rousing with a “What the hell..?” I saw Donna standing in the doorway with a startled look of her own.
"My God!” she blurted, “You were asleep!"
I was about to stun her, but she shook her head and lightly smacked her forehead with her palm as she backed out of the room and again headed down the hall.
Tiger said, “Goodbye, Donna!” and she returned his farewell, then the front door opened and closed.
Finally. At last. The issue had been decided. I flopped back and initiated some theta waves to counteract the dose of adrenalin that had shocked me back from the edge of sleep.
When I woke again, it was a few minutes after ten. I felt groggy and mildly cranky, but I got up and went through morning motions in the bathroom, then put some eggs and bacon in the microwave and shared them with Tiger.
A car door slammed outside and I got up to look out the kitchen window. Two men—a deputy in uniform and Detective Greer—strode up my driveway. I opened the front door as they arrived on the porch.
"Hi, guys. C'mon in.” I pushed the screen door open and headed for the kitchen to finish my breakfast. I gestured at the chairs and the coffee pot as they followed me.
Neither of them seemed interested in the coffee. They took seats at the table and Greer opened a folder, then he asked why I hadn't stuck around after the US-19 incident.
"Everybody there saw what happened. I figured you had enough witnesses without me."
"As I understand it, you may be the reason the motorcycle crashed."
Nodding, I said, “Maybe. When the biker saw me, he aimed his gun at me, then lost control of his bike."
"May I ask why you flew over the motorcycle?"
"He got past the cops and it seemed likely he was going to shoot into the car in front of him. I thought it might distract him to see a guy on a surfboard twenty feet overhead. Apparently it did, since he aimed that MAC-11 right at me."
The uniformed deputy asked disbelievingly, “You noticed the make of the gun? In passing at a hundred and twenty miles an hour? From twenty feet above the guy?"
Greer glanced at him, but said nothing as I answered, “Yeah, but if it had been a regular pistol, I might not have. There are just too many kinds using the same basic designs these days. Why was he chasing that car?"
Ignoring my question, Greer asked, “Were you aware that the motorcycle rider was killed?"
Shrugging, I said, “Well, it seemed pretty likely after the bike landed on him. It looked to me as if the right foot peg got him smack in the chest."
His gaze narrowing, the uniformed guy asked, “That doesn't bother you, sir?"
Forking up some egg, I replied, “No. It doesn't."
Greer asked, “Did you do anything—anything at all—that would have caused the motorcyclist to crash, sir?"
"I put myself where he could see me. As I said, that seemed to upset him a bit."
"Anything else? Did you throw anything at him?"
"Didn't have anything to throw. Why was he after that car?"
Again ignoring my question, Greer glanced at his uniformed companion, then showed me his notes and asked if there was anything I'd like to add.
"Nope. Can't think of anything."
Once I'd signed off on the report, he said, “Thanks, Ed. If we have any further questions, we'll be in touch,” and got to his feet. The guy in uniform also stood up.
I stood up, too, and led them to the front door, where Greer asked, “Before we go, may we see your flying board?"
"Board on,” I said, and stepped onto it when it appeared by my feet. As the two guys retreated a pace or two, I nosed the board up and around the oak tree and back to the porch, then stepped off it.
Both cops examined it fairly closely and asked questions about it that I deferred by saying that the technology was both proprietary and classified. That answer didn't particularly please them, but they left.
Chapter Forty-two
Back at the kitchen table, I called up a field screen. A quick check of records showed the cops had mentioned flying boards in their own reports at the scene, so I had no reason to believe that Donna had sicced the bears on me for spite.
The records also called the motorcycle's crash ‘unexplained’ and failed to mention either a plainclothes car or a non-police car involved in the procession.
Instead, the motorcycle was listed as the primary reason for the chase that had begun at the southern Pasco County line and been handed off to Hernando County deputies at the northern county line.
Interesting. Someone in the lead car had likely been in custody or in a witness protection program. In any case, the cops didn't need me for anything or they wouldn't have settled for a fifteen minute interview at my kitchen table. I decided to get away from the house for a while and asked Tiger if he wanted to come with me.
Tiger looked away from his favorite window long enough to say, “I want to go to the lake at the end of the street."
Lake. Hm. Well, I guess from his six-inch-tall perspective, Hill's Pond might look like a lake.
Nodding, I answered, “Okay. The lake's good."
Just as I reached for the front door knob, Linda's dual-toned chime sounded in my comm implant. I sipped coffee and let it ping again, then keyed up a field screen and said, “Hi, Linda."
"Hi, yourself. Are you alone?"
As Tiger looked up from his food dish and yowled, “Hello, Linda!” I answered, “Nope."
"Hello, Tiger!” she returned, then, “Stand by for a datapad conference call, Ed. I have Stan Maxwell on hold."
The head of the NSA was holding for me on a Sunday morning? On a link through Linda's datapad? Had hell frozen over while I wasn't looking?
I gave Tiger a signal to be quiet and said, “Okay, Linda. Fire when ready."
A balding man with a puzzled expression appeared on the other side of the screen and I waved at him as I said, “Hi, there. Unless there's some reason to be formal, I'm Ed, you're Stan for the duration of this conversation. What's up, Stan?"
While Linda pursed her lips sligh
tly, she showed no other signs of discomfort with my opening line. Stan Maxwell seemed to be peering at me; in fact, he was likely peering at the datapad display screen he held.
Holding the pad a bit farther from his face, he nodded slightly and said, “Ah ... okay. Hello, Ed."
I said, “You could put your glasses on, y'know."
He looked mystified. “My glasses?"
Chuckling, I said, “Yeah. The ones that recently made two little dents on the bridge of your nose. I use reading glasses, too, but I'm using a larger screen."
Maxwell sighed and reached off-screen for a pair of glasses, put them on, and asked, “How's this?"
I shrugged. “Well, that depends, Stan. Do you see two gorgeous Vegas showgirls standing behind me?"
With a wry look, he replied, “No, I don't."
"Well, then, I guess your glasses are working."
Linda propped her chin on a palm and sighed gently to spur things along. Stan glanced at her side of his screen and nodded.
"I just wanted to personally thank you,” he said, “Two of our people were in a car that was about to be shot all to hell by an Iranian militant on a motorcycle."
He paused a moment, then continued, “While we very much appreciate your assistance we'd also very much like to know how you happened to know there was a problem."
Uh, huh. So that's why Linda had arranged this call. He thought someone might be monitoring their activities. Oh, well, suspicion was part of his job description.
"I was on my way home from a bar. There was a parade of cop cars on US-19, so I checked it out. Some guy on one of those Japanese crotch-rocket bikes got past all the cops and pointed a MAC-11 at me, so I stunned him."
Maxwell's eyes again went to Linda's side of the screen as if to ask, ‘Is this guy for real?’ and Linda snickered.
"Uhm,” muttered Maxwell, as he looked at something on his desk, “Uhm ... Yes, here it is. The cops say the bike was doing over a hundred and twenty. Damn! Did you consider any ... uhm ... other methods of stopping him? Or maybe just slowing him down so the cops could nail him?"
3rd World Products, Inc. Book 7 Page 24
