“Hey! I know,” I said. “Why don’t you guys just rent a wormhole? You know. Look in the yellow pages under portal letting?”
“They do that?” Garth asked.
“I wish,” Grayson said. “Unfortunately, our only viable option is to locate the existing wormhole and figure out how to make it open at our will.”
I laughed. “Here’s another idea. Why don’t you just follow Queen Bimbo around and see where she beams up from?”
“I’ve tried that,” Jimmy said. “I haven’t been able to catch her actually using a portal, but I know she leaves the meetings by way of Whirlwind Trail.”
“That must be the general vicinity of the portal,” Grayson said. “Excellent. We’ll go there again tonight and attempt to nail down the location more precisely.”
I blew out a sigh. “Okay. Say you find this wormhole, Grayson. What then? You gonna push Queen Cruller in and slam the door? I mean, what’s to keep her from coming right back out again?”
“Hmm,” Grayson said, wiping salsa from his lips. “I guess we’ll have to cross that Einstein-Rosen Bridge when we come to it.”
I nearly dropped my taco.
How could this possibly get any more absurd?
“Oh, by the way,” Grayson said, taking a slurp of Dr Pepper. “I’ve come up with a name for our mission. I’m calling it, ‘Operation Mercy Flush.’”
And there it is.
Chapter Fifty-Three
“Why, why, why?” Grayson muttered as we left the picnic table and walked back to the RV.
I shrugged. “I ask myself the same thing all the time, Grayson. Why did I leave Point Paradise? Why did I think I wanted to be a private eye? Why did I just spend the afternoon with a bunch of nerds, discussing how to send Malibu Bimbo back through a wormhole?”
And, most of all, why do I still find you attractive when you’re such a complete and utter weirdo?
Grayson eyed me sideways as he opened the RV door. “What I meant was, you were right to question the mission, Drex. Why now? Why Wade? Why this park in the middle of nowhere?”
“Oh,” I said, shriveling inside. “Uh ... I better go check on Earl.”
I’D RETREATED TO THE underbelly of the smelly RV, hoping to avoid Grayson after our spat. But it hadn’t worked. After listening in on Earl through the bedroom door, I turned to find him standing right behind me.
“How’s the patient?” he asked.
“Still snoring,” I said, and handed him his stethoscope. I looked up and offered him a weak smile, worried he’d been offended by me questioning well ...everything.
“Good. Let him sleep,” he replied.
Grayson’s tone sounded normal, as if my confession had meant nothing to him. Maybe it hadn’t. Maybe Grayson really didn’t care one way or the other how I felt about the mission or about him.
“Hopefully he’ll be back to himself in the morning.” Grayson said, opening the window above the banquette to let in some fresh air. “There’s got to be something I’m missing.”
That’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one.
I decided to let our disagreement go. I perked up and played along. “What do you mean, something’s missing?”
“Portals require massive amounts of energy to work. That’s why Paulides believes location is so important. His map shows that nearly every one of the park disappearances he’s investigated occurred in an area where quartz boulders and mountains were present.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, wincing against the odor. I cracked open the side door. “You said quartz is a natural conductor, right?”
“Yes.” Grayson walked over to the kitchen window. “And as such, it can also store energy. That’s why Paulides’ crew was able to pick up evidence of energy fluctuations around the sites of some of the vanishings.”
“I remember that,” I said. “He thought those fluctuations could be the potential fingerprints of portals, right? Tears in time and space?”
Grayson’s cheek dimpled. “Correct.”
I shook my head. “But like you said, Florida doesn’t have any quartz. So how can it be the site of a portal?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
Grayson turned toward the kitchen sink. Suddenly, he slammed his fist down on the counter. “Dammit, Drex!” he yelled, spinning around to face me. “I thought I told you to clean those test tubes.”
I scowled at the dirty vials I’d left in the windowsill for two days. “I’m not your maid, you know!”
“I know that!” Grayson’s shoulders slumped. “Sorry, but this case has me stumped. I really hoped I could count on you.”
He turned around and picked a test tube out of the rack. “I didn’t think it was such an unreasonable request. You simply take the cap off like this, then put it under the tap—”
“I know how to wash a damned test tube!” I yelled. “I’m not an imbecile!”
Grayson turned and held up a dirty test tube for my inspection. “Then why haven’t you—”
“Because Earl’s pee is in them!” I bellowed.
Grayson froze. His mouth fell open.
“That’s it,” he muttered.
My heart pinged.
Crap! Has Grayson finally had enough of me?
“Look,” I said. “I’m sorry. I’ll clean the stupid ... I mean, I’ll wash the test tubes, okay?”
“No.” Grayson said, shaking his head. “That’s it.”
I cringed. “I’m fired?”
“What?” Grayson asked. His eyes shifted from the test tube to me. “No, Drex. Pee.”
My eyebrows rose an inch. “You want me to pee for you? Sorry, but I don’t play that—”
“No!” Grayson yelled. “Pee. That’s the answer!”
“Great,” I said, smiling weakly.
The answer to what?
Chapter Fifty-Four
Despite the lingering outhouse aroma, Grayson had seated himself at the banquette. Hunched over a microscope, he was examining the contents of one of the dirty test tubes I’d been too lazy to wash.
As I tried to sneak out the door, he looked up from the scope. “It all makes sense to me now.”
I turned around. “Well, that makes one of us.”
“Here. Have a look.”
Grayson scooted over and patted the seat beside him. I slid into the booth next to him and cautiously placed an eye on the microscope viewfinder. A weird, black, honeycomb-like mesh came into focus.
“What is that?” I asked.
“Black phosphorous,” Grayson said. “Preserved by Earl’s urine and crystalized by the sun.” He shook his head and laughed. “I probably wouldn’t have figured it out without you two.”
I peered back into the microscope at the odd, interlocking cell-like structures. “Figured out what?”
“Everything,” Grayson said. “Including why Queen Kristie picked an abandoned phosphate mining area to set up her scheme of taking over the world. And where she’s getting the energy for her portal.”
“Whoa, there Grayson,” I said, glancing up from the microscope. “I’m gonna need you to back up and start from the beginning on this one.”
“Of course.” Grayson smiled, leaned back, and interlaced his fingers behind his head. “Once upon a time, back in 1669, a German physician named Hennig Brand boiled, filtered and processed about sixty bucketsful of urine.”
“Whoa!” I said, grimacing with disgust. “Uh ... you don’t have to go that far back. And seriously, what was this guy hoping to discover boiling buckets of piss?”
“Phosphorus, Drex. That’s how it was first isolated as an element.” Grayson licked his lips. “You know, I’m suddenly thirsty for a beer.”
I laughed and shook my head. “Only you, Grayson. Stay there. I’ll get you one.”
I scooted out of the booth and fished around the tiny, nearly empty fridge. I reached into the back and pulled out the last Corona and a Dr Pepper. I handed the beer to Grayson. “So this Brand guy discovered blac
k phosphorous?”
“No,” Grayson said, taking the beer. “He discovered white phosphorous. That’s the most common kind. Nowadays, it’s primarily obtained from phosphate rock. Florida and North Carolina are loaded with it.”
I cracked open the Dr Pepper. “So, how many kinds of phosphorous are there?”
“Three.” Grayson cracked open the beer. “There’s white, which is poisonous and highly combustible when in contact with air. Then there’s red phosphorous, which is made by heating white phosphorus to 482 degrees, or by exposing it to sunlight. In that form, it’s not poisonous and a lot less dangerous.”
I shook my head in wonder at Grayson’s encyclopedic knowledge. Too bad he was missing a few vital pages.
“So, what’s it used for?” I asked, then took a slug of my soda.
“Red phosphorous?” Grayson asked. “Mostly for safety matches, fireworks and smoke bombs.”
“Huh,” I grunted. “All that strip mining for a something as trivial as fireworks shows? Hardly seems worth it.”
“For phosphorous alone, maybe not. But it’s the byproduct—phosphoric acid—that’s the big money maker. It’s used commercially in all kinds of things.”
“Like what?”
“Fertilizers. Cleaning detergents. Florescent light bulbs. TVs.” He tipped his beer in an air toast. “Even that soft drink you’re chugging.”
I grimaced. “Ugh! Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
I set my soda on the table and took another peek through the microscope lens. “What about this stuff? Black phosphorous. What’s it used for?”
“Until recently, pretty much nothing.”
I looked up from the microscope. “I feel a big ‘but’ coming on.”
Grayson’s cheek dimpled. “Your instincts are correct, cadet. Hold out your hand.”
I showed Grayson my palm. He opened a test tube and poured some black powder into it.
“Touch it,” he said.
I rubbed my index finger in it. The black powder felt flat and grainy, like the stuff in the center of pencils.
“Feels like graphite, doesn’t it?” Grayson asked.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“A few years ago, black phosphorous was considered useless. But that thin, flaky structure you feel is now being used to create nanosheets for use in nanoelectronics.”
“Uh, okay,” I said. “But what’s any of this got to do with wormholes and portals and pee?”
“Oh, my,” Grayson said, then laughed.
I gave him half a smile for that one.
“Well, you see, Drex, pee is actually the answer to black phosphorous’ future. Researchers found that black phosphorous became more resilient when in contact with ammonia, probably because ammonia donates electrons that neutralize holes in the black phosphorous’ molecular structure, making it more stable for use in nanotechnologies.”
“How did they discover that?” I asked.
“Don’t ask.”
“Fine.” I smirked. “Okay. So, how do intergalactic portals fit in this story?”
“I’m getting there,” Grayson said. “You see, unlike white or red phosphorous, black phosphorous is thermodynamically stable at room temperature and pressure.”
I pretended like I got that. “Yeah? So—”
“And, here’s the kicker,” Grayson said.
He leaned toward me until our faces were inches from each other. He locked his mesmerizing green eyes on my dull brown ones and said, “Even though black phosphorous contains no metal, it conducts electricity.”
I gasped. “Are you saying this black stuff in my hand is the energy source for Malibu Bimbo’s portal?”
Grayson’s cheek dimpled. “And I was beginning to think you were just a pretty face.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
By the grace of God, I’d convinced Grayson to leave the stinking outhouse on wheels and continue our discussion at the picnic table. Garth and Jimmy had joined us there. We were attempting another brainstorming session. The only thing we needed now was a pair of fully-functioning brains.
“Good news, men,” Grayson said. “Drex and I have determined the portal’s energy source.”
Grayson passed around the test tube containing black phosphorous. “Now we need to find the wormhole’s location. We’re in agreement with Jimmy. Our best bet is to surveil Queen Kristie and catch her in the act.”
“Of eating donuts?” Garth asked.
“No,” Grayson said. “Of activating the portal. We need to study her actions. Learn her habits.”
“Her habits?” I asked.
“Yes,” Grayson said. “I believe that, as a fruiting body, bacteria could be determining the timing of Queen Kristie’s Earthly comings and goings.”
“You think Queen Kristie’s under the same bacterial mind control as her followers?” Garth asked.
“Hmm.” Grayson rubbed his chin. “I hadn’t considered that. What I meant was the alien bacteria Queen Kristie’s using could be following an extraterrestrial circadian rhythm.”
“Huh?” Garth asked, saving me the effort.
“A circadian rhythm is a natural, internal process,” Grayson said. “It regulates the sleep-wake cycle. On Earth, it repeats roughly every 24 hours.”
I rolled my eyes at Grayson’s latest tangent. “What’s Queen Bimbo’s beauty-sleep ritual got to do with anything?”
“Circadian rhythms have been widely observed in plants, animals, fungi, and cyanobacteria,” Grayson said. “Therefore, it’s logical to infer that Queen Bim—I mean Queen Kristie’s activities could be driven by the circadian rhythms of her internal bacteria’s life cycle.”
I snorted. “Yeah. Either that or she uses a watch.”
Jimmy winced. “Well, Mr. Gray, I have noticed she always starts the meetings at 7:15 on the dot, and ends them at 8:30.”
“Right,” Grayson said. “That means either the alien bacteria reach critical mass an hour or so after ingestion, or Queen Kristie is only able to maintain portal stability for that long.”
I rolled my eyes. “Or maybe she just wants to get home in time to watch The Bachelor.”
“Excellent work, everyone,” Grayson said, ignoring my remark. “Tonight, we’ll follow Queen Kristie, find the location of the portal, then figure out how to jump-start the wormhole ourselves.”
“Sure. Sounds simple enough,” I quipped.
“I’m glad you think so,” Grayson said. “We leave at quarter to seven. I suggest we all wear either camo or black.”
I smirked. “You make it sound like we’re heading off to battle, Grayson.”
Grayson shot me a serious look. “Perhaps we are.”
He turned to Garth and Jimmy. “This may be our last stand, gentlemen. But Drex, you shouldn’t have anything to worry about. It appears Queen Kristie is only interested in taking men’s lives—as is the custom during wartime.”
“Wartime?” I said.
“That’s not true,” Jimmy said.
I breathed a sigh of relief. “War is a pretty strong word, Grayson.”
“Oh, the whole war thing could be right,” Jimmy said. “But not the men-only thing.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Jimmy pursed his lips. “I just got off the phone with Thelma over at Juanita’s restaurant. Apparently, Wade’s girlfriend Connie has gone missing, too.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
Before Jimmy had dropped the bombshell that Wade’s girlfriend Connie had also gone missing, I’d comforted myself with the idea that only humans of the male persuasion were dumb enough to fall for Queen Bimbo’s blonde, big-bosomed, bacteria-laden charms.
But with that myth now busted, I felt a growing paranoia that, as a female, I also was in real danger.
I glanced up at Grayson, Garth and Jimmy, all crammed into the bench seat of Earl’s monster truck. Dressed in black, camo and flannel, they appeared ready to foolishly face whatever fickle fate awaited them.
My mind flitte
d back to Earl, battling for his life in the back of Grayson’s RV. If my cousin had known we were getting ready to face down Queen Cruller without him, he’d have rolled over in his filthy mattress.
“Come on, let’s go,” Grayson said. “Get in.”
Jimmy offered me a hand up.
I hesitated.
If three’s a crowd, then four’s a feel-up.
“Thanks,” I said. “But I think I’ll ride in the back.”
I SAT ON THE TOOLBOX in the back bed of Bessie and peered into the rear window at the men sitting solemnly with their weapons of war in their hands. As far as I could tell, they were all electronic.
“Turn here,” I heard Jimmy say.
I braced for the curve, then bounced like a toad in a sack as Grayson maneuvered the monster truck off the main road and down a dirt lane mired with potholes.
As we rode along, I was surprised to see an odd assortment of vehicles parked on the side of the dirt road. Grayson pulled the truck into a space between a Lincoln Town Car and an eight-seater golf cart sporting a festive trimming of gold-tassel fringe.
“Let’s roll,” Grayson said, shifting into park. The engine cut off and everyone piled out.
Grayson ambled over to a ragged-out pickup truck and peered into the passenger window. “Intriguing. It appears the men’s addiction has escalated. There’s evidence here of habitation.”
I let out a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah. Or these losers could just be living in their cars because their wives threw them out.”
“That’s a point we’ll have to ponder later,” Grayson said. “Right now, we’ve got bigger fish to fry.”
He nodded toward the woods. Just above the treetops, I spotted an all-too-familiar, faint, orange glow.
“Destiny awaits,” he said. “And it’s born of fire.”
I sighed.
Super. I only hope we don’t all go up in smoke.
WE’D BEEN HUNKERED in the bushes beside the clearing for the better part of an hour. But so far, the only thing we’d managed to infiltrate was a motherlode of mosquitos. Just my luck, the three geeks surrounding me had brought every stupid contraption known to man—except for mosquito repellent.
Scatman Dues (Freaky Florida Mystery Adventures Book 6) Page 20
