In Favour of Fools: A Science Fiction Comedy (These Foolish Things Book 1) (17 page)

Chapter 39
- Now it’s hot and time for a little je ne sais quoi

It’s still hot out here. The first sun is just dipping below the horizon, but the second sun is still riding high in the sky, as if it is determined to discover just how good my coat’s cooling mechanism really is. At the moment, the jury’s out. I’m sweating and uncomfortable, and my boots are getting sticky again even though I’m in partial shade from the hotel. I can’t go any deeper because I’ll be visible from a window. I can see the entrance and the squirtbooth, but no-one can see me.

There are a few people milling around the squirtbooth, looking angry and confused. It’s obviously not been fixed, yet it strikes me that their attitude is a little extreme. In a fit of recklessness, I walk over to them.

‘What’s happening? Is it still broken?’

A short man with unnecessarily thin hair turned to answer.

‘Yes, it’s been broken for hours and this really is just not good enough. They’d better get their act together soon, or they’ll hearing from my lawyer, and they don’t want to mess with her; I’ll tell you that for nothing.‘ Well, I was hardly going to pay him for that significant nugget of information,
He lifted his arm and tapped his wrist-top. ‘We haven’t got much time left.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘We have to get to the Squirtport before sundown two.’

‘What’s the rush?’ Do you ever get that feeling that everyone else knows important stuff and that you didn’t get the email?

‘Haven’t you heard? They’re shutting down the port tonight, and if we’re not there before they do, we’re stuck in this dump.’

‘But...why would they do that?’

‘It’s a security measure. That’s what the announcement said. They’re shutting down all interstellar ports on every planet; including Earth.’

‘Why, what’s happened?’

‘Didn’t you hear? Contact has been made with intelligent aliens.’

**********

What do I do now? I can’t be stuck here on this damned hole of a planet forever. I’ve got to find a way back to the Squirtport before it gets shut down. Somehow I’ve got to find a way to cover the two thousand kilometres in the few hours of daylight remaining.

There’s a crowd gathering and I’m a little worried that I’ll be noticed. Of course no-one else is standing out here very long; I’m the only one dressed adequately for a long stay in the sunshine. The make–up of the crowd changes every few minutes as people go back in out of the heat and are replaced by other anxious individuals from the hotel. But where are the thugs? Surely they must know about the situation. The last thing they want is to be stuck here; unable to fulfil their mission and get on with their lives. So why aren’t they out here, panicking with the rest of us?

The only answer is that they must have their own way of getting to the Squirtport in time. No other explanation flies. In fact, now I think of it, if they were coming here expecting to bring Masters back, there’s no way they’d use the single person squirtbooth outside the hotel. So they must have known all along that they’d be travelling to the Squirtport by more conventional means. That’s why they are sitting calmly in the hotel whilst all others lose their minds.

I am making sense, aren’t I? The heat hasn’t frazzled my brains to mush and I’m not missing something obvious, am I? I could really do with some sound advice right now, because it looks as though I’m about to walk back into the hotel and hand myself over; just like that. On a scale of one to ten, how stupid is that? I know what you’re thinking; it’s an eleven.

I leave the booth and walk back to the shadow of the hotel. Maybe a little coolness will bring some clarity of thought to my overheated mind. Of course, it’s not really cool; it’s just not quite as hot.

So, let me get this clear in my head. I’ve spent half the day in this blazing heat to avoid the two guys who are looking for me; I’ve spent a fortune (not my own money, thank goodness) hiring a room to hide in. And now I’m going to walk right into the hotel and cadge a lift home?

Before I take such precipitous action, I should try to guess what they’d do with me, if I was so generous. They want Masters, that’s a given. Failing that, they want the money. If I present myself as the third choice, what would they do?

I flick my wrist-top open. If you won’t help me, I’ll have to help myself. I have a great decision making programme here; you just feed in the parameters of the available choices and the clever algorithm makes the decision for you. I know what you’re thinking; if it’s so clever, why do all of my life choices suck? You can’t blame the programme for that; it’s just user error.

Right; that was a lot of help. It say's do nothing, which is my default position of course, but I don't think it will work here. If I follow its advice, I might never get off this planet, and I have to get home before it’s overrun by little aliens; at least I’m hoping they’ll be little; something the size of ET would suit me.

I’m going to have to make my own decision, without your help I suppose; but, can I just say, we are all in this together. And it’s time you stepped up to the plate, to use a sporting metaphor that I don’t really understand.

So, I’ve left the shadows. I’ve tightened my belt and pulled the brim of my hat lower. I’ve removed my goggles so that I’ll be able to see better inside the hotel. I take a couple of deep breaths and try to remember those Zen relaxation exercises that Julie taught me during a particularly fretful period of my life that I won’t go into here.

I spend another couple of minutes running through the logic of what I am about to do, then I run out of delaying tactics and stride manfully to the door, in my sticky boots.

After the bright sunshine outside, the foyer of the hotel seems dim, but I can see them both sitting together near the entrance to the bar. They are talking quietly and not paying much attention to the comings and goings. I make a snap decision; I’m going to have a drink. I’m parched from the heat and I deserve a drink, so I march right past them and into the bar. With a bit of luck, if the service is superb, I’ll have a pint in my hand before they reach me.

I decide to play it uber-cool and order three pints; one for each of my expected companions, and one of course for me. You can tell how stressed I am; I haven’t even noticed the breasts of the attractive young woman behind the bar. Well, I have now, of course.

I take a deep pull on the pint; it’s cold and characterless; just the way I like my beer.

There’s no sign of the thugs, so I finish my beer. My would-be captors have not yet charged into the bar, attitude bristling, so I start on the next pint; if they come now, they'll have to share.

There’s a mirror over the bar and I can see my reflection clearly. It strikes me that no-one could recognise me in this get up, not even my mother. I’ve walked right past them and they haven’t noticed. What a whizz!

Then I notice the police officer in the mirror. She's sitting on a tall barstool, nursing a long cold drink, and looking glum. Up close, she looks even better, and I can see that she is armed. I toy with the idea of stealing her weapon and shooting my way to freedom; I’ve seen it done in films. But no; that’s not for me. I’d probably be riddled with bullet holes before I’d worked how to turn the safety off. I’ll stick to my tried and tested method of using my wits and hoping for the best.

As I’m finishing the second pint it occurs to me that I could have been here all day long, relaxing in the cool ambience of the place, and not getting my boots sticky.

Ah well. That’s life, I suppose; well, my life anyway.

I’m trying to work out if I’ll be safer if I’m talking to a police officer when they come in to get me, or is that just a delaying tactic? I like delaying tactics; if you get them right, you never have to face up to anything.

‘Hi,’ I say as I move closer; not too close; I don’t want to frighten the girl.

There’s a short moment when I wonder if she heard me, or maybe she is deliberately ignoring me. I lower the scarf that might be disguising my good looks.

‘Hi,’ I try again; a little louder and with maybe a little more je ne sais quoi.

She turns towards me. Yeah! That je ne sais quoi gets them every time.

‘Hi yourself, Phil,’ she breaths. ’I didn’t expect to see you here.’

Oh my goodness! It isn’t, is it? No, it can’t be; but it is.

‘Linda, Linda Belinda; is that really you?’

She nods and takes a deep breath to display the extent of her transformation. I’m not sure exactly what happened just then; I was probably drooling and lost in appreciation of what growing up can do to the female form.

‘You’ve changed,’ I mutter.

‘You haven’t,’ she laughs, and there is some jiggling which I’m not even going to pretend to ignore.

‘And your sister; what was her name? Lucinda; that was it. Lucinda Belinda’

‘Named after my uncle.’

I laugh; it may be the first proper laugh I’ve had in days.

‘You got to love your mum and dad.’

‘Don’t mock them. They may have lacked imagination, but they were otherwise perfectly adequate parents.’

‘Melinda; that’s your mum’s name, isn’t it?’

For that I receive a gentle punch on the arm and a stern look.

‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, trying to work out if she’s had work done, or if this is all just the natural blossoming of a fifteen year old tomboy into a wonderful woman.

‘There was a report of a murder, and they sent me. It was the end of my shift as well, and I had a date. But there was no-one else; everyone else is at the Squirtport, on crowd control.’

‘D-did you find a body?’ I don’t normally stutter, but then I have been doing a lot of uncharacteristic things lately.

‘Yeah, he’s dead alright. A hole in his chest you could put your fist through.’ She shows me the dainty little fist she could have used.

‘W-what happens now?’ There is it again. Damn! If I keep this up, her trained investigative mind will suspect something.

‘I have to wait until someone senior comes, and that could be hours, with the squirtbooth broken. I’m supposed to stay at the crime scene, to maintain security. Can you believe I forgot to bring any crime scene tape? And it smells, you know?’

I nod; it did smell.

Oh, no. I shouldn’t have nodded; perhaps it was a sympathetic nod? Yes, I’ll go with that.

‘Why are you wearing that get-up?’

Now I’m getting worried.

‘I’ve been outside; for a walk.’

‘In that heat?’

I nod again; not trusting my voice. She’s lovely, but I don’t want her asking me questions; not unless it involves less clothes and more heat, and maybe some oil.

My wrist-top tells me that my time is running out.

‘I’ve got to go now.‘ I start, hoping that the next line will leap fully formed from my mouth. ‘I’ve got a… meeting…with a…man about…a dog. I’m getting a dog. I’ve always wanted a dog. Man’s best friend; that’s what they say, isn’t it?’

Linda laughs and gives me a small card; I’m not sure at all where it came from, though it’s quite warm.

‘Call me,‘ she says. ‘When you’ve got a bit more time.’

I nod suavely.

Bet you never expected that! Even in the most dangerous situation, when everything seems to be against me and my sticky boots are leaving footprints across the floor, I can still pull.

Chapter 40
– Now this feels risky

I’m standing in the doorway; I’ve had three quick pints (I wasn’t going to the leave the third, was I?). I’m about to do something very clever, or very stupid. The empirical evidence casts the odds in favour of the latter.

Without giving myself time to hesitate or reconsider, I step forward until I’m standing right in front of the two thugs. They are still whispering to each other, and it’s not too presumptuous of me to think that I’m the subject of their chat.

I stand for a couple of minutes, and still they take no notice of me.

‘Excuse me,’ I say. My mother always taught me to be polite; not by example of course.

One of them looks up, and gives me a half snarl.

I take this as an encouraging sign and smile back at him. He is a squat man, and nature did him no favours with the enormous hairy mole it planted in the centre of his forehead. It was the sort of thing you know you shouldn’t look at, but can’t help yourself.

‘What’s happening with the Squirtport?’

He gives me the rest of the snarl and looks at his companion.

‘It’s shutting, apparently,‘ answers the other thug; his voice surprisingly refined.

‘Do we know why?’

Mole starts to study my face, then he flips open his wrist-top.

I decide that it is time to reveal myself to them and start to remove my outer clothing; there really should be some music for this.

When I’m hatless and coatless, Mole gasps and leaps to his feet.

‘I believe you are looking for me,’ I say, with a casual air.

‘Mr. Chandler,’ says Refined. ’How nice of you to offer yourself to us.’

‘I think we can be of help to each other.’ Mole has taken an unnecessarily firm grip on my arm; he probably doesn't realise that I bruise very easily.

‘I can see how we could help you, but what do you have of worth to offer us?’

‘Information.’

‘What sort of information?’

‘It would be foolish of me to reveal the details at this point. What I can say is that it has to do with the money Masters stole from your boss.’

‘You know where it is?’

I smile knowingly and say nothing. I usually find that the less I say, the more intelligent I seem.

‘He’s not my boss; we are associates, and I am sure he would be happy for me to extract the information you have here and now.’

I don’t like the sound of that.

‘We don’t have much time for that now; do we?’

Refined looked over a Mole, then checked his wristwatch.

‘You are probably correct. We have only thirty minutes before we need to leave. I’m sure my companion is more than capable of accessing the information you say you have in that time, but I think it would be best for all involved if we take you with us.’

For a second, I felt relief; it didn’t last long.

‘Please bear in mind that my colleague here does not like to be disappointed. You won’t like him when he’s disappointed.’

I don’t much like him as he is.

‘You can trust me,’ I lie. ‘How are we getting there?’

‘We’ll be flying; there’s a ‘plane due anytime now.’

With my two new buddies, I leave the hotel. I’ve put my hat on and fastened my coat, so I’m quite comfortable in the late afternoon heat; only about 150 degrees Fahrenheit. My companions are a little less so, in their jeans, T-shirts and jackets.

At some stage, I’m going to have to come up with a clever plan to get myself out of this situation that I’ve talked myself into; but, for now, I’m just happy to be going home.