3rd World Products, Book 17 Read online

  I’d seen her quick-change act a few times long ago. Once she’d exploded at Will over a scheduling conflict, but all of a sudden she’d pulled her claws in and taken a rather theatrical calming breath, then said, “Never mind. Done is done.”

  Will had looked at me as if to ask, ‘What the hell?!‘ as Marie left the room. The next day she faked pushing the wrong button on a drink machine and gave him the resulting bottle of Pepsi. That wasn’t like her, either. Pepsi wasn’t her first choice, but she’d drink one if a Coke wasn’t available. And as far as I knew, she’d never hit a wrong button before in her life.

  That afternoon she’d called someone named Don to talk about helping her moving her stuff to a new apartment. When she got off the phone, she said, “He isn’t sure he’ll be off before seven and I have to get that stuff out of there tonight.”

  Knowing I had to go to Landstuhl, she’d turned to Will. Of course. I didn’t think he was at all fooled, but he shrugged and said, “Sure.”

  And it all worked out. Don got there a little after six, the stuff got moved, and Will had a little friendly leverage on Marie for a while. In the same vein, if I was about to be used in some manner, I’d either refuse to cooperate or try to bargain some similar leverage.

  We took the long way, looping around Orlando and pausing for a time to watch planes take off and land at Orlando International Airport. Marie said the way air traffic controllers juggled dozens of planes at once had always amazed her. She then went on to say she’d dated an ATC in the eighties and told me about watching him work.

  “On one occasion,” she said, “Everybody got very tense and some guy came to look over Ted’s shoulder. They ordered a few planes to do things, argued with a French pilot, and suddenly everything was okay again, but I saw the supervisor’s hands shake before he left.”

  After all that screaming at me, she was being chatty? I’d seen the pattern before. She’d chat a while to put the mark off-guard, then spring whatever it was. I’d intended to introduce her to mental communication through her board control disk, but I shelved that idea for the moment. Saving that for use as a keel-righting shock seemed a good idea.

  At Vonda’s Place, a new pianist was tickling out a blues tune while we chose a table and ordered drinks from a blonde waitress whose name tag read ‘Trish’.

  I asked, “New here?” and she replied, “No, three months.”

  “That means Vonda thinks you’re good, which means I might also see you behind the bar some nights, right?”

  Her left eyebrow lifted. “Some nights, yes. You know Vonda?”

  Nodding, I said, “For years. Tell her Dragonfly dropped by.”

  Glancing toward the bar, she said, “She’s here. I’ll tell her you’re out here if you want.”

  “If she has time, fine. If not, no biggie.”

  Trish nodded and left to get our drinks. Marie had been looking the place over and announced it would do. She seemed to relax visibly, fully occupying her padded chair rather than simply sitting in it. She stretched gently and took a deep, quiet breath, then looked toward the piano and winced slightly as the pianist hit an odd note.

  Noddingly indicating him, she said, “He’s not bad, except for those. That’s his third since we’ve been here.”

  “He’s probably some friend’s kid making a few bucks. If we’re lucky, Vonda will play.”

  “She’s good?”

  “She can make Liszt’s B-minor Sonata look easy.”

  With a grin, Marie said, “OOOooo, I think I’m impressed. I’d forgotten you knew anything about classical music, Ed.”

  “Ha. Sure you did.”

  Our drinks arrived before she could reply. I gave Trish some money and sipped my drink, then nodded. “Very good.”

  Trish looked at Marie, who realized Trish actually cared what she thought of her drink. She sipped and also nodded. “Mine, too.”

  Smiling, Trish left us again and we sat in silence for a time before Marie asked, “You think I’m up to something, don’t you?”

  I chuckled, “Yup. Sure do.”

  In a flat tone, Marie said, “I’m not sure yet. Maybe I’ll tell you about it later,” and sipped her drink again.

  Okay. Later. Maybe. With a mental shrug, I studied the bar. Ages ranged from twenties to seventies. Some of the pairings seemed to be the May-September type, but most were of like ages.

  At a nearby table a pair of fortyish couples seemed to be having an animated discussion. A woman at that table glanced at me several times and met my gaze once. She nodded slightly. I nodded to her and returned to studying the room.

  With some people, a glance or a nod is all it takes to set them off. In this case, one of the men at the table had noticed our tiny exchange and I felt him eyeing me. He abruptly stood up and carried his drink to our table, where he sat down without asking. Transferring his drink to his left hand, his hands ended up about shoulder-width apart as he leaned across our table.

  He growled, “You see something over there you like, sport?” Glancing at Marie, he asked, “And does your date here know you’re eyeballing other women?”

  Using the motion of wiping some dampness off the table, I moved my left hand away from my glass and said, “We just noticed each other. And you seem to be sitting at the wrong table.”

  “You’re tellin’ me to go away?”

  “Very good. You got it on the first guess.”

  “I don’t like people tellin’ me what to do.”

  “That’s not a surprise. Do it anyway.”

  His right hand suddenly shot toward my shirt collar and my left hand moved to intercept. Grabbing his thumb, I twisted it outward and down quickly, heard his thumb and wrist joints pop, and let go.

  The guy’s mouth and eyes opened wide in pain and shock. He clenched his right hand close to his gut and stood up as he hissed, “You motherfucker! I’m gonna…” just as Vonda’s bouncer, Bert, arrived. Bert’s heavy hand clapped down on the guy’s shoulder and sat him back down hard.

  Bert quietly said, “That’s twice this week, Tommy. When you get out of that chair, you’re leaving. You won’t be back.”

  When Tommy glared up and started to speak, Bert wrapped a big hand around Tommy’s bicep and firmly added, “Shut up. You’re leaving, dude. Just get up and get moving.”

  Apparently accepting his fate, Tommy said, “I gotta see my friends first. Let ‘em know…”

  Lifting Tommy upright, Bert said, “They aren’t stupid. They’ll figure it out,” and helped a protesting Tommy find his way to the front door and outside. He then returned to our table and said, “Sorry about that. Are you two okay?”

  Marie grinned and chuckled, “Oh, I think so. Thanks.”

  Her apparent happiness made Bert’s left eyebrow arch, then he looked at me.

  I shrugged. “I’m good. Thanks for putting a lid on things.”

  Bert nodded. “That’s my job. Have a good evening.”

  With that, he ambled over to the other table and spoke with Tommy’s companions. They didn’t seem too upset. The guy there even laughed shortly. Bert headed for the bar and spoke to the bartender. The woman who’d noticed me lifted her glass in a tiny salute and I nodded in return, then she turned to the others.

  Marie said, “You seem to be as quick as ever.”

  I met her gaze. “His intentions were pretty obvious.”

  She snickered, “Yes, they were, but still…” She made a little grab and twist gesture and said, “That was entertaining.”

  “Glad to hear it, ma’am.”

  Trish swooped to our table, set down two fresh drinks, and said, “From Vonda.” She picked up Tommy’s glass and said, “I’m glad that jerk’s gone. I’m just sorry it involved you.”

  With a shrug, I said, “Better me than someone else, ma’am.”

  She didn’t seem to know what to say to that. After a moment, she grinned and nodded, then continued her rounds. I watched her swivel around some tables, then saw Vonda at her office door. She n
odded a greeting and I returned a smile.

  Marie asked, “I take it that’s Vonda?”

  “Yup.”

  “She’s cute. Is she just a friend?”

  I replied, “Yup,” and sipped the last of my first drink, setting the empty glass down beyond the full glass.

  Marie sipped her drink and sat eyeing it for a time, then said, “Other than Tanya, you’re the only person I really know here in Florida, Ed.”

  That seemed unlikely.

  I ventured, “Could be you’re overlooking someone.”

  She shook her head. “No. The few good friends I had before my accident are gone. Dead or moved.” She sipped again, sighed, and said, “A helluva thing, isn’t it? I hated you for forty years and now you’re the only person I have any long-term connection to.”

  I sipped and said, “Other than Tanya? And that should have been, ‘to whom I have any long-term connection‘, ma’am.”

  Shooting me a narrow glance, she said, “I’m serious, dammit.”

  Meeting her gaze, I nodded slightly. “Okay, but it’s Friday night and we’re having drinks in a piano bar, so why be serious? Your life’s been way too serious for way too long, lady. Take a break.”

  Marie seemed annoyed. Her eyes held mine for a time, then she sipped again and set her empty glass next to mine. She started to pick up her fresh drink, then didn’t. Her fingers tapped the table a few times, then she said, “By God, you’re right. I don’t know what the hell it is with me; I’m always wound up tight for no reason.”

  Maybe she expected some kind of response. If so, too bad. I wasn’t going to disagree; she was right. I wasn’t going to agree, either, and open the door to either analysis or argument.

  At another table, someone’s elbow shoved a beer bottle over the edge. I sent an invisible tendril to catch it and soften its landing. Marie noted the small, quick gesture of my left hand and followed my gaze in time to see the bottle settle upright to the floor.

  People at the other table marveled about the strange event as I took another sip and saw Marie eyeing me.

  “Yes’m?”

  She shook her head. “Never mind. I’ve seen you do other things.” A few beats of silence passed before she said, “Back in a few,” and quickly stood up to head for the piano.

  I watched her go, then noticed Trish by the bar. She gave me a quizzical look, then turned back to what she’d been doing.

  I thought, ‘Nothing’s wrong, Trish. Marie’s just trying to make up her mind about something.‘ Sipping my drink again, I watched Marie seemingly study the piano in great detail.

  It seemed likely to me that Marie had been caught up in the earlier excitement of learning to fly her board and that she’d more or less decided to see if there could be anything between us. I’d have no objections if I thought she could contain her cranky streak, but I seriously doubted she’d be able to do that for very long.

  On the other hand… She was an intelligent hottie. Why should the possibility that she’d turn mean at some future point be an obstacle? It would just mean she’d move on, and likely fairly quickly.

  On the other other hand… if it didn’t matter, why did it seem to matter? Simple answer: she’d had enough tribulation and turmoil in her life lately. I was finally on her good side after forty years, and that seemed to mean something to me. I wasn’t sure what, exactly, but I liked this side better than the other.

  Marie walked back to our table and sat down, then sipped her drink in silence for a few moments. Without preamble, she asked, “Is there any reason I shouldn’t go home with you?”

  Pretending to give her question serious thought for a couple of seconds, I replied, “I can’t think of one at this very moment.”

  With a wry glance, she sipped again and chuckled, “Well, hell, why not take another minute and think real hard about it?”

  With a slight head shake, I replied, “Nope. Not necessary, ma’am. While you were eyeballing the piano, I was eyeballing you.” As if admitting something, I said, “That’s mostly what convinced me, in fact. I decided that even though you’ve always been downright mean to me, I couldn’t pass up such a glorious opportunity.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “To do what? Get even a little?”

  I leaned closer to her and said, “No. That was a compliment, not a snide remark. While you were standing by the piano, I developed a rather intense urge to climb up your gorgeous legs and lick you silly.” Sitting back upright, I added, “Unless, of course, you think it’s too soon in our relationship for something like that.”

  Marie gave me a rather staring ‘are you nuts?‘ expression, then swilled the last of her drink and set the glass down with a gasp.

  “No,” she chuckled softly, “This might turn out to be a huge mistake, but it’s definitely not too soon. Not at all.”

  Chapter Nine

  With goodbyes on the way out, we headed for the parking lot. I half expected to encounter Tommy again, but he didn’t show. Marie and I stepped between a couple of larger SUVs, mounted our boards, and soared into the night sky.

  As we approached my house, Marie suddenly veered up and left. Her board’s tail lights made a sweeping arc westward and I followed, catching up as she reached the shoreline of the Gulf of Mexico. She stopped her board a hundred feet above the beach and I stopped beside her.

  Looking down at her board, she pointed at it and grinningly said, “Stay!”, then carefully lowered herself to sit on it like a surfer, her legs dangling on either side. I took a similar position on mine and studied the world below us as I waited.

  Marie’s silence lasted maybe two full minutes. Not looking at me, she said, “I’m having second thoughts, Ed.”

  I promptly responded, “Okay.”

  She looked at me and her voice rose slightly. “Okay!? That’s all you have to say?”

  “Yup.” I shrugged. “You’ve been through a helluva lot, ma’am. If you aren’t quite past it, don’t sweat it. Take your time.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “That wasn’t what I was referring to.”

  As I raised an index finger and started to speak, she snapped, “And if you’re going to correct my English again, I’ll knock you off that goddamned board.”

  Letting the finger drop, I said, “Maybe — just maybe, mind you — I was only about to try to be sympathetic, ma’am.”

  “Crap. You were about to try to tweak me again.”

  “Okay, having established that your mind is as sharp as ever, it now seems likely you thought of some other objection.”

  Holding her glare for another moment, Marie turned and looked out to sea for a time, then said, “I don’t know. The ‘bots did too good a job. Some people have thought I was Tanya’s sister.”

  Uh, huh. Here we go. I asked, “And why’s that a bad thing? Don’t all you super-hotties want to try to look young forever?”

  Turning to face me with visible irritation, Marie snapped, “Don’t play dumb with me, dammit. You know why. Would you be thinking of her while you were screwing me?”

  “Funny, she asked essentially the same question after she saw some old pictures of you. Wanna know what I told her?”

  Sitting straight, Marie paused, then snapped, “Yes.”

  “I said I’d be thinking of Yvonne Craig.”

  “Cute, but that answer won’t work for me.”

  “At this very moment, no answer would work for you, so it doesn’t really matter. I’m ready for some coffee. How about you?”

  Without waiting for a response, I nosed my board upward in a roll and flipped it upright at the apex, getting to my feet and heading east at a leisurely pace. Marie caught up a few moments later and flew alongside in silence.

  As we neared US-19, a southbound sedan ran the red light at Cortez Boulevard. He had to be doing close to a hundred as he whizzed up the slight hill past Weeki Wachee Springs. About a mile behind him, three screaming, flashing cop cars crested the previous hill and slowed slightly as they approached the traffic light. A few cars t
here stopped and the cops shot past them.

  I turned to follow the sedan and Marie banked to join me. The sedan had nearly reached the Northcliffe Boulevard intersection when it turned off its lights and braked hard.

  Maybe the driver thought he had some special driving talent. If so, he was very wrong. He angled to the left a bit too sharply, apparently aiming for the gas station driveway just behind the northbound side of the intersection.

  Barely avoiding a car screeching to a halt at the stoplight, the sedan fishtailed hard, missed the gas pumps by inches, and ended up heading back toward the street. He made it across the northbound side of the highway and braked hard before his front wheels slammed the curb of the median strip. Both front tires blew and the car’s rear flipped up. The car skidded forward on its nose, digging into the grassy median, and then the car completed its flip and slammed down onto its roof.

  All the windows exploded in sprays of glass. The battered car slid another thirty feet or so, grinding to a halt half onto the far shoulder of the road. Hovering above the wreck, I put up a screen and sent a probe down for a closer look.

  Marie yelped, “What the hell’s that for? Aren’t we going down there?”

  I replied, “I’m not,” as the probe showed us the lower half of a man protruding from beneath the roof. He must have gone through the windshield during the flip. His upper half had been beneath the roof during the car’s slide.

  As the cops arrived, I canceled the probe and turned toward the house. Marie came alongside and we flew in silence until we reached my front porch. When I opened the door, she didn’t immediately step forward to enter the house.

  Holding the door open, I asked, “Something wrong?”

  She looked thoughtful as she said, “I don’t know. Maybe I should head back to Ocala.”

  A number of responses came to me, but I only said, “Suit yourself,” as I realized I’d left my coffee mug aboard Galatea. I silently called her down to retrieve it and startled Marie when I abruptly reached past her to take my mug from the flitter’s dash.