“By the way, sir, I found those electrical components and pieces of metal upon the bench beside you during my search.”
As I was chewing on an absolutely delicious turkey and avocado sandwich, I examined what looked like pieces to a homemade remote detonator and fragments of bomb casing. Walter had placed them in sealed plastic envelopes, dated, site located, and signed. I chanced to look up and saw between the boards above. I was being protected from the rain by a plastic sheet decorated with images of hundreds of mice. I swallowed my mouthful and said, “Walter?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Where did you obtain that plastic sheet?”
“From the Marks & Spencer catalog, sir. I originally intended it to serve as a ground cloth for our picnic here. Because of the inclement weather, however, I thought this application more practical.”
The mice on that sheet weren’t Mickey or Minnie, or even Mighty. They were, instead, a quite realistic vermin infestation of Biblical proportions. “Mice, Walter?”
“Yes, sir. It was for Mrs. Jaggers and her guest. I hope you don’t object.”
“No. No, Walter. Not at all.” I looked away from the sheet. “Speaking of Val and Nadine, do you know where they are?”
Just then a strange distant voice sang out, “Nadine, honey is that you?”
From the other side of the little stone building I heard Nadine call out, “It’s Chuck Berry!”
“Help me up, Walter. That’s Shad!”
Before he could get me to my feet, Nadine ran into the shelter followed by Val. In Nadine’s mouth she carried a small object that resembled a micro—the lipstick sized forensic mech we used for getting past reporters and into really tight places. She jumped up on the wooden plank and deposited the micro in my hand. “Guy is in this thing, Harry, isn’t he? Guy sings that song to me. Because of my name. That’s Chuck Berry’s voice.”
“Yes,” I said as I examined the tiny vehicle. All of the black paint was gone from the micro’s port side, and one of the tiny claw grapples up front was broken off. The other forensic instruments, however, looked serviceable. The tiny flashing red power readout on its front end indicated an occupant coming off standby. “He’s in there, Nadine,” I said.
The micro energized fully and rose into the air, its chipped lens aimed at my face. “Jaggs. It’s about time you got here.”
“I say, look what the cat dragged in,” I responded happily.
Hovering, the micro turned around. “Hi, Walter.”
“Very good to see you, sir.”
Aimed at my wife, Shad said, “Hi, Val.”
“It’s so good to find you alive, Guy. We were so worried.”
“And therein lies a tale. But first,” he did a middling job of rubbing the micro’s port side against Nadine’s left whiskers and cheek. “I really missed you.”
“Nadine’s the one who suggested coming out here,” I said.
“In that case,” he said to Nadine, “you definitely pulled my engrams out of the fire.”
“Guy,” said Nadine meekly, “your ducky suit. I’m afraid it’s gone.”
“Yeah. I’ve been finding pieces of myself scattered all over the north end of this hill. That rat, too.” He faced me. “All I found of yours, Jaggs, was a lot of blood.” He did a quick scan of me. “Busted ankle, ribs, ear implants, and a cut throat. You got off light. Which reminds me: Is there anyone else on the hill besides you four?”
“There were more than a dozen, but they all went home, Guy,” answered Nadine. “It’s raining.”
“Harry,” said Val crossly. “You’re soaked and you’ll catch your death.”
“Better I should catch death than it should catch me,” I answered with a smile.
“Walter—” she began.
“Stop fussing,” I said, “and you’re not to reproach Walter. He did what he could to keep me dry within the bounds of my cooperation.”
“If that’s all settled,” said Shad as he rose slightly and faced Walter, “Brother mech, you got an AH8 port adapter in that can?”
Walter held up his left pinky finger. “I do indeed, sir.”
“If you can spare a couple of electrons, I could use a boost.”
“Certainly, sir.”
Shad rotated up slightly, caught a view of Walter’s special tablecloth, and shot down to the ground as he cried out. He studied it for a moment and slowly turned until he was looking at me.
“A little treat Walter purchased for Val and Nadine,” I explained. “A feline snack motif.”
“Mice?”
The cats looked up at the improvised roof. “Why, Walter,” said Val. “It’s very thoughtful.”
“Ever so elegant,” Nadine joked amiably.
“Yeah, man,” Shad said as he warily moved toward Walter. “The bee’s knees.”
After Shad’s micro was fully charged and Val and Nadine were happily eating the mouse morsel stuffed pastries Walter provided, I tried a general wireless transmission. “They operated on my ears and I went wireless.”
“And another dinosaur bites the dust,” Shad said out loud to me. Turning to Walter he said. “Do you have wireless?”
“I do indeed, sir.”
“Would you send a little transmission to Jaggs telling him how great his new ears are?”
“Very good, sir.” To me he transmitted, “Your signal came in five-by-five, sir. Do you enjoy the feature?”
“Haven’t quite gotten used to it,” I answered. To Shad I said aloud, “What’s afoot?”
“Nicely put,” rhymed Shad. Val and Nadine were both looking up from their mouse morsels sensing something amiss. “We’re being observed,” Shad announced to us all. “It’s electronic and optical surveillance. I don’t think the guy staking out this location can pick up low level sound or bio or mech receivers at the range he’s at, but wireless he gets.”
“Who?” asked Val.
“This is going to sound crazy,” he said to Val, “but it might be the NYPD.”
“I say.” I must have looked rather surprised. In any event, I certainly felt that way. “What led you to that conclusion?”
“The rat said something to me right before all hell broke loose. When you were on the phone trying to make sense of the report we received, Jaggs, I went to the cruiser and copied into this micro. From there I went directly to our alleged corpse. I was just about to do a scan on the deceased when the rat opened his eyes, looked behind me, then looked directly at me and said, ‘Hi, cheese eater.’“ Shad issued the rat’s words in a falsetto voice, replete with scorn and American accented syllables.
“What happened then?”
“The rat moved one of his front feet and I began getting the hell out of there. A second later it went boom. By the time this mech rebooted and I managed to dig my way out from under some turf that landed on me, it was dark, the area was ringed with crime scene tape, and everybody was gone.”
“Is there some significance in what the rat said?”
“Yes,” answered Shad. “Cheese eater is one of the more affectionate names NYC cops use to refer to members of the rat squad: Internal Affairs Bureau.” He turned to Nadine. “IAB takes down crooked cops.”
“Were you ever in Internal Affairs?” I asked him.
“No. But I never took a bribe and among some cops that’s prima facie evidence you’re chewing cheddar with the whiskered set.”
I gently shook my head. “That makes no sense. You’re thousands of miles, a couple of years, and several careers away from New York and its police force. Why try and kill you now?”
“All I can think of is some old crooked cop went a little dingy in the head and decided killing me was the answer to all his problems.”
“Why didn’t you put in a call for help?” Nadine asked.