Guillermo shrugged. “Science,” he said. “First we find the right Jed. Then we work on switching you. I’ve got contacts with Uncle Sam. You know that. And we’ve got access to a pretty powerful source of…power.” His eyes twinkled at this as he raised his hands to indicate all of Chavez Ravine, the geographic area that surrounded us and which Guillermo owned most of; the ground throughout the ravine was peppered with tiny blue crystals that the old man had finally dubbed Chavezium and which he had been using for years to power his inventions, Perdida among them. “But finding the right world, the right settings…” He tapped his tablet with a stubby finger. “That’s the first step. Then we go from there. You just have to be patient.”
The mechanical dog had finally settled at my feet, and I had withdrawn the hand I was rubbing her with. A regular dog would probably have nudged my hand for more affection, but Perdida wasn’t programmed that way and had been lying on the floor, contented, while Guillermo spoke.
Now, as I struggled to come up with a counterpoint to the old man’s rational explanation of my situation, the little dog hopped to its feet and skittered across the floor toward the screen door. She had heard something outside, and a few seconds later my human ears heard it, too. A car was approaching the little house and the nearby outbuilding with the “Garcia Industries” sign affixed above its door.
I looked at my watch. It was almost ten o’clock.
“Carmelita’s back early,” I said.
“Si,” the old man answered. “You suppose something’s wrong?”
“Doubt it. This case we’re working is kind of a dog. No offense, Perdida. If she got our client put to bed already, there’s not much point in her staking out the house any more than she already has.”
Outside, I recognized the sound of my car’s engine as it pulled up in front of Guillermo’s house, probably blocking the little gravel driveway where his old Patterson pick-up was parked. Something about the engine sounded odd, and when I looked at Guillermo, I could see that he’d noticed it, too.
“She doesn’t sound so good,” he said.
“Probably just needs a tune-up.”
“I can do that for you. You want to leave it here tonight? I can run you two back to your place.”
“No,” I said. “I still need it tonight.”
“Date?”
“A gig.”
“Ah.” He nodded his understanding. “Well, tomorrow then. Or whenever you want.”
“Thanks, Guillermo. I’ll pay you, though.”
“I don’t think so. You keep Carmelita safe. That’s payment enough.”
Moments later, Perdida was making happy yapping noises and rearing up on her hind legs as she watched Carmelita approach the kitchen door.
To call Carmelita beautiful would be an understatement. She had wide green eyes and bronze skin, her face framed by perfect waves of silky black hair. When she was thoughtful, the straight line of her full lips made her look a bit haughty, but when she smiled, it changed the impression she made on people. I had seen men melt at her gaze—which amused me since I knew the truth about Carmelita, a truth not even she knew.
“You’re a bit early,” I said to her as she stooped to pet Perdida. “Everything go okay?”
“Yes,” she said, setting her purse on the table next to Guillermo’s machine. “Ginny’s in for the night, just like every Friday we’ve been watching her. Not much point in waiting around.” She tipped her chin toward the machine beside her purse. “Any luck?”
“No,” I said. “Not this time.”
She nodded but said nothing more.
“This Ginny,” Guillermo said. “You got a new case?”
“Not that new. It’s been ongoing for a while,” I said. “Nothing exciting. Just a tail job.”
“Well…if it pays the bills,” Guillermo said. “Sometimes excitement is best avoided, I think.”
“I think, too,” I said.
“Not me,” Carmelita piped in.
The old man and I gave her looks. Excitement was the thing we needed to keep her away from. Brilliant though her brain might be, it didn’t always keep Carmelita out of trouble.
“Are you ready to go?” she asked after pointedly ignoring the reproachful glances she’d just received. This was something I’d grown used to, Carmelita having a surprising ability to process only the information that she found useful. I wondered if it was part of her programming, an aspect of her self-preservation mode that allowed her to remain in the dark about her true nature, all evidence to the contrary.
I glanced at my watch. “It’s a bit early. I wasn’t expecting you for another hour, and I don’t need to be at the club before midnight, but…” I shrugged. “We may as well go. I can get you home and then get myself warmed up in plenty of time.”
The original plan had been for Guillermo to drop me off at the club and for Carmelita to swing by around two in the morning to pick me up when I’d finished my gig. By that hour, it was a safe bet that the subject of our investigation—a screenwriter named Ginny Flynn—would be in for the night, freeing Carmelita to come retrieve me. But now that the evening’s surveillance was over, there was no reason to drag Guillermo downtown to taxi me to my second job.
“Do you want to stick around?” I asked Carmelita. “Watch me play?”
She raised an eyebrow. “I get to listen to you practice every afternoon, Jed. Do you really think I’d want to watch you play those same songs all over again, but this time in the comfort of a dumpy nightclub?”
The straight-lipped stare followed this statement, but only for a second. Then Carmelita broke into a big smile; she was clearly pleased with her ability to tease me.
“Thanks,” I said.
“I actually hoped to be able to use the car myself,” she said. “After dropping you at the club.”
Now it was my turn to raise an eyebrow. “Plans?”
“Nothing specific. I thought I’d take in a movie and just watch the crowds on Broadway. It’s Friday night, after all. I don’t want to stay in. I’ve been doing too much sitting lately, watching after Ginny Flynn.”
I half expected her to make a crack about having gained weight as a result of being so sedentary, but the remark didn’t come.
“That’s fine,” I said. “As long as you stay out of trouble.”
Her smile broadened.
“You have no idea,” she said, the slight roll in her eyes looking like something she’d learned from watching Wilma Pringle movies.
“Come on,” I said good naturedly. I was ready to put Guillermo’s machine and the rough journey I’d had in that world behind me. My guitar case was in the old man’s front room, and I pushed my chair back from the table to go retrieve it, Perdida circling my feet as I went.
Chapter Two
I knew as soon as I turned the key that my second-hand Winslow coupe wasn’t going to start again. The odd noise Guillermo and I had heard it make when Carmelita pulled up had been the battered engine’s death rattle. The engine cranked with good intentions, but it wouldn’t fire into life.
Carmelita sat beside me on the front seat, my guitar case behind her. She gave me a pained look as the engine repeatedly failed.
“Did it run funny at all for you tonight?” I asked.
“It was fine going up to the valley, but on the way back it didn’t have its usual pep. Should I not have driven all the way back here?”
“I don’t know,” I said, trying not to let annoyance slip into my tone. Whatever was wrong with the car, it wasn’t Carmelita’s fault, and I doubted she’d made it worse by pushing the engine a few more miles. I probably would have done the same thing.
Guillermo stood in his driveway, surveying the situation. “What do you think?” I asked him through the open passenger window.
He regarded the car and shook his head. “I can’t say just from listening, but…” Then he shrugged and drew deeply from his well of optimism before adding, “I can fix it.” I’d heard him say this before about ma
chines in far worse shape than my car’s engine, and he’d always been right.
“Thanks, Guillermo,” I said. “Let me use your phone to call a cab.”
He shook his head. “Just take my truck. You can bring it back tomorrow. I should have this one done by then.”
“You’re going to stay up all night with it?”
“It shouldn’t take all night.”
I knew the old man wouldn’t let me pay him for this monumental favor; he saw my guardianship of Carmelita as a constantly accruing debt that he owed me even though I didn’t look at it that way. I also knew that once he got it into his head that he was going to do someone a favor like this, it was best to let him go ahead.
When I got out of the car, however, I realized the flaw in Guillermo’s plan. The dead Winslow was blocking the driveway, trapping the pick-up truck Guillermo had just offered to lend me. “We’re going to have to push this one out of the way,” I said, not looking forward to the effort it was going to take.
The most sensible plan would have been to put Guillermo behind the wheel to steer while Carmelita and I pushed, my android assistant’s unnatural strength being a definite asset. However, to Carmelita it probably would have seemed indecorous to put her to work like that, pushing a car in heels and a skirt not being exactly ladylike. Maintaining the charade of her humanity would require Guillermo and me to put Carmelita behind the wheel while we pushed, and though Guillermo was strong, he was also in his eighties, so I didn’t relish the prospect of having him put his back into the labor. This meant it was going to be me pushing the big black hunk of steel on its balding tires.
That wasn’t how things went, though.
“We don’t have to push, I think,” Guillermo said, his ever-present smile widening.
I gave him a quizzical look, and I’m sure Carmelita did the same.
“Have you got a magic wand or something?” I asked.
“Better,” he said. “Come see what I’ve done to the Patterson.”
Five minutes later, Guillermo was sitting behind the truck’s wheel, finishing his explanation of the modifications he’d recently completed. I looked at the pick-up truck with skepticism and said, “You’re sure about this?”
Before the old man could answer, Carmelita cut in with, “I want to try.”
Guillermo and I both looked at her.
“It’s not exactly driving,” I said.
To this, Guillermo added, “This isn’t the excitement you were thinking of. I was just thinking we could use the new drive to get the truck moved. Then you take Jed downtown like you normally would.”
“That’s fine,” Carmelita said. “I still want to try. A girl needs a little bit of fun sometimes, doesn’t she?”
Guillermo gave his characteristic shrug, and I knew we were beaten.
“Get your guitar, Jed,” she said, and then she moved in on the driver’s seat. If Guillermo hadn’t moved, I expect Carmelita would have sat on his lap in her eagerness to get at the truck’s controls.
I let out a sigh and opened the Winslow’s back door, grabbing my guitar case and checking to make sure I wasn’t leaving anything else behind that I might need later or in the morning. Then I walked back to the truck and laid the case in the bed, hoping none of Guillermo’s equipment would shift around during the drive downtown and damage my instrument.
Opening the squeaky passenger door, I said to Guillermo, “All that work, and you couldn’t fix the door?”
“That door is part of her charm, lobo,” he said with a smile. “Some things shouldn’t be fixed.”
“Mm-hmm,” I grumbled and put all my energy into getting the door shut. Then I looked at Carmelita, who sat happily behind the wheel. “You sure you’ve got this figured out?” I asked.
She didn’t answer, just turned the key to start the little truck’s diesel engine. Then, rather than put it into gear, she flipped a switch that Guillermo had added to the dashboard, and the truck started vibrating a little more differently than it had when only the engine had been running. I also caught the telltale scent of Chavezium being consumed somewhere in the truck’s new mechanism. Turning her head to give me a mischievous smile, Carmelita reached for the joystick mounted next to the ignition. Then she turned toward the window, said, “Bye Uncle Guillermo,” and pushed the joystick into the “up” position.
Immediately, the old pick-up left the ground, its suspension creaking as it was relieved of the weight of the truck’s body. At the same time, I reached for the dashboard, gripping the curved steel in an effort to give myself some sense of security. It didn’t really help. The truck rose slowly into the air—five feet, then ten.
“I think this is high enough,” I said. “We can clear the roof of my car now.”
“Your car’s pretty big, Jed. I’d hate to scratch it.”
That was when I knew I was in trouble.
With a perfectly executed girlish laugh, Carmelita thrust her foot down onto the new pedal Guillermo had installed next to the clutch, and the Patterson flew into the air. I thought I heard Guillermo yelp, but it might have been my imagination.
“Stop!” I shouted. “You’re going to get us killed!”
“It’s fine, Jed. You heard him say so.”
“I’ve heard him say a lot of things. That Chavezium doesn’t last forever, you know. And not all of his inventions work the way he thinks they will.”
Using the truck’s new controls, Carmelita slowed the truck’s ascent and then stopped it, leaning to her left so she could look out the window and down at the little houses in Chavez Ravine. “That’s a long way down, Jed,” she said, her tone telling me she was clearly enjoying the discomfort she was causing me.
At that point, I was close to telling her that if the truck crashed now, only one of us would die, that her metal frame and mechanical parts would be shaken up but that she’d probably come away from the crash needing nothing more than a few adjustments, while I would be on my way to the nearest mortuary. Saying so would have been pure spite, however, so I restrained myself. Irritated though I may have been at Carmelita’s little trick with the truck, I knew it wasn’t my place to reveal the truth to her—especially since doing so might be enough of a shock to her system that she might shut down in response, and then where would I be?
“All right,” I said. “You’ve made your point. I need to let you have more fun. Why don’t you set us down now and we’ll drive downtown like we’re supposed to?”
“Nothing doing,” she said as she reached for the joystick again. Seconds later, we were flying rather than driving toward the tall buildings in the near distance.
The Patterson cut through the air high above the neighborhoods in the strip of land between downtown and Chavez Ravine, and I didn’t relax my grip on the dashboard. Every now and then, I glanced away from the window to look at Carmelita. The cab’s interior was dark, but my eyes had adjusted enough for me to be able to see the gleam in her eyes as she steered the truck through the air.
Probably realizing that this method of travel was going to get us to our destination much faster than she had anticipated, Carmelita eased the joystick to the right, which caused the truck to start banking away from the tall buildings of downtown.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“You don’t have to be there until midnight, right?” she responded.
“Right, but…”
“Then let’s take the scenic route. Who knows when Uncle Guillermo’s going to let us take this thing out again.”
“But you don’t know how much juice this thing’s got in it,” I countered. “Guillermo was only planning on having us fly a few feet, just over my car. What if it wasn’t ready for a big trip like this? And one this high up?”
It was difficult not to let panic slip into my voice.
“Stop worrying,” she said. “He wouldn’t have let us take it anywhere if it wasn’t safe.”
“Please,” I said. When she didn’t respond, I added, “Carmelita,” in as s
tern a tone as I could muster.
She glanced over at me, her eyes shifting from my face to my hands gripping the dashboard and then back again. “All right,” she said. “I’m sorry. I just thought it would be fun.”
“It is,” I said, a bit relieved. “It’s just better if everyone involved knows about it first, all right?”
I pictured Detective O’Neal from the LAPD and the way she’d released Carmelita to my care, the deal between us that she would allow the automaton to continue moving about freely among the citizenry if I could guarantee that she wouldn’t get in trouble and would do nothing to hurt the human population of the city. Crashing an old pick-up truck into a neighborhood from a height of two hundred feet—or only twenty—probably didn’t fit the criteria for safety that the detective had had in mind when she’d let Carmelita out of her custody. Getting the Patterson back on the ground was going to make me feel much better, in every way.
Carmelita reached for the controls. I saw her pull the joystick into the downward position. And I immediately saw her expression change to one of confusion. At the same time, I realized that the truck had not begun its descent.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I don’t know. It…” She pulled on the lever again. “It’s not responding.”
“Try the other directions,” I suggested and then watched as she tried left and right as well as up. The Patterson’s trajectory did not change in the least. “What about slowing down?” I offered.
She moved her leg, working the pedal that controlled the truck’s airspeed.
“Nothing,” she said, agitation rising in her voice. “What do we do?”
“I don’t know.” My tone was rising to match hers. I looked out the window to see how high the truck still was above the ground. The dark streets and clusters of houses, many with lights on, were still far below, too far to jump and hope for any kind of survival. “Keep trying,” was all I could think of. “Maybe something’s…worn out or broken. Maybe it’ll click back into place.”
She did as I’d suggested, but still nothing happened.
The truck had been in a right banking turn when the controls had ceased functioning, and so it continued in that direction. Eventually, we would make a huge circle and come back to the point where the turn had started.
The Double-Time Slide: A Dieselpunk Adventure (The Crossover Case Files Book 2) Page 2
