Episode LIV

“Sir, the telephone is ringing.”

“Answer it you idiot!”

“Hello? Yes Frank, he is here. Okay.” Distracted by too many neurons firing at once the henchman hung up the cell phone and turned to his master. “Frank says the police are close to finding you.”

“I was afraid of this,” Acidity muttered just loud enough for the henchman to overhear. Then he realized how melodramatic he sounded and ordered the henchman to forget what he had just heard. Unfortunately this henchman was George, one of his original two followers. Acidity had utilized George more than any of his other “employees” and had thus had to inject him more than anyone else. The command was interpreted a bit too literally and George stood in front of Acidity with a blank look smeared across his face. Cursing the stupidity of his followers under his breath Acidity started over.

“If we are going to move we will need money. Go back to the Bates Hotel and retrieve all of their files. I especially want all of the credit card information they have.”

“Yes, sir, Lord Acidity” George haltingly responded, trying to remember his mission perfectly.

“Now make sure nobody sees you, nobody alive that is. The police have captured you before and I can’t take the chance they want you again.”

“With a final nod and “yes, sir” for his master George left the makeshift compound and headed towards the north side of Daze Springs.

* * *

With a groan Frodo awoke. He stretched and immediately wished that he hadn’t. His arms encountered slimy garbage—the remains of too much spaghetti he suspected. At once he was outraged. Who would dare to do this to Frodo Baggins?!? He would make them pay! But then he remembered. He was no longer Frodo Baggins, he was simply Jeff Smark.

After a momentary letdown Jeff decided not to let anything keep him down. He had risen through the structure of Elfaeran’s massive hierarchy until he had budgetary control of Q Lab. Perhaps his fellow (well former fellow) Q Labbers had betrayed him, but Jeff knew he could get back at them. The first thing he needed to do was contact his financial advisor. A quick call and—his hand slapped against an empty belt. Of course, he berated himself, they had taken all of his equipment, no matter how mundane. Even his wallet was gone, though they had left his glasses. Perhaps out of pity he though. But his glasses were not as ordinary as they appeared, though they would even fool Xanga’s vaunted sensors. None of their features would do him any good here though.

When an attempt to clean his glasses only smeared the filth around Jeff sighed and sat up. Thankfully the dumpster was mostly full and he could see out from this position. The dumpster was in a dingy alley behind what appeared to be a rather rundown restaurant, Tony’s Bistro. After probing his memory for a few moments Jeff remembered the establishment. He and Prince John—no, he reminded himself, no more pseudonyms if he could help it. He and Dick Löwe had used the place once during Q Lab’s early years as a place to meet a Canadian agent. Since that time the neighborhood had decayed and had been absorbed by the north side slums.

“Of course they’d dump me in a place like this,” he muttered. “They just—” But then he froze, for he heard footsteps coming down the alley towards his dumpster. Jeff debated hiding below the rim of the trash container, but on a whim he decided to ask the approaching individual for help. He determined that the stranger was a tall man in his mid twenties with long red hair. Jeff called out. “Hello, my good man, can give you give a brother a hand?”

“Master said I mustn’t be seen,” the man muttered in a dull voice. “Have to kill this one.”

“Whoa, whoa!” Jeff replied. “No need to kill anybody. I’m worth more to you alive than dead.”

“No, you can’t live.” With that dire pronouncement the man picked up a nail encrusted plank and advanced upon the dumpster.

“Wait, you can’t be serious,” Jeff protested. “I-I have money! I’ll pay you not to kill me!”

The man paused and appeared to be considering the offer. “Money? You can give money to the master?”

“Um, yeah, sure. I can give money to your boss no problem. Now where should I send this money?”

“No sending. You will come with me to hotel and then we see the master.”

With a shrug Jeff levered himself out of the dumpster and walked towards the man. At this point anything was better than the dumpster. Then he paused as something about the man struck him as familiar. Wait, hadn’t Q Lab just started investigating reports of slavish goons in Daze Springs? This man could be a follower of the creature calling himself Acidity. Jeff grinned, if this was true then his day was definitely looking up. He might be completely on his own, but this Acidity character certainly had an organization already in place. He resumed his walk towards the man and grinned. “What’s your name buddy? I’m Jeff.”

“George. Don’t talk any more. Follow me.”

* * *

Acidity was contemplating the merits of sending more minions after George and had decided to have someone call Frank for him when the entrance to his makeshift throne room burst open. George pushed past the two minions standing guard, trailing another man behind him. The middle-aged stranger was of average height with greasy blond hair and thoroughly unremarkable features. Acidity was sure he had never seen him before, but he still seemed familiar.

Abruptly Acidity sat upright as he realized what was familiar about the stranger. He walked and moved just like the scientists at the Daze Springs Scientific Studies Lab, with all the arrogance that modern society’s addiction to science could give him.

“George!” the acid lord began. “What is the meaning of this?”

As he listened to his own voice Acidity truly began to warm to his new persona. This is who he was meant to be. No more for him the days as mild mannered James Faulkner, successful businessman and world traveler. Instead of traveling the globe Acidity meant to rule it! But first, of course, must come his control of Daze Springs, and he could never accomplish this with only idiots like George. Perhaps if he had a few more underlings like Frank Evans…

Suddenly Acidity realized that George was answering his question.

“—has money Lord Acidity.”

“Is this true?” The acid lord quickly cut George off and turned his full attention to the stranger.

“Of course Mr. Acidity, I have plenty of money. But perhaps if you tell me a bit more about your present difficulties I can determine how to best help you. You see I know all about you. Some former associates of mine were quite fascinated by your emergence. If you gain much more power they may start seeing you as a threat.”

“Wait,” Acidity growled. “Who are you that I should listen to you?”

Ignoring the question the stranger posed one of his own.

“Where is your minion Ed?”

“You know too much.”

“No, wait. Ed disappeared after an incident in Westwood, right? But he eventually came back. Why?”

Slightly intrigued by this brash man Acidity decided not to throw the stranger out and tried to humour him instead. “Of course he returned. Everybody returned, they cannot resist me. I am more addictive than the Borg!”

“That’s what we wanted you to think. Sci-fi clichés aside, your acid treatments are extraordinarily addictive. But…”

“But?” Acidity prompted in his deep voice.

“But we managed to beat it. I’m not sure how, that was Batman’s department. Look, we can talk all day, but I can produce proof for you. My former associates know everything that Ed knows. Not knew, everything that he knows and learns. By this time they’ve probably already gone to the police.”

“I’ve heard the police are close to me, but not why.” Acidity paused in his pronouncement. “I must investigate this. You will stay here tonight under guard.”

“May I at least have a shower and some clean clothes?”

“Yes. Fenton and George will take you to a room. You will remain there and not attempt to escape.”

“Yessir bossman. I’ll stay put. By the way, my name is Jeff.”

* * *

The room Jeff was lead to was far from comfortable, but at least it was clean and dry. After a long cold shower he stretched out on the room’s cot. Apparently the compound had water and sewer connections, but no electricity or amenities like water heaters. Or, he mused, perhaps that was just for the “guest quarters.”

As the former Q Labber wasn’t at all tired he tried to plan out his future. He’d known he wanted revenge against the rest of Q Lab, or at least the mutiny’s leaders, but he’d never imagined he would have the good fortune to run into someone as capable as Acidity. Tomorrow, once he had convinced the acid lord he would have to contact his financial advisor.

For the past twenty years Dr. Gordon, in addition to his own eccentric activities had managed Jeff’s investment portfolio. Initially Zagreb Investments had been rather small, but once Jeff entered Q Lab he had found many opportunities to divert funds. He always told himself that he wasn’t stealing, just taking what was rightfully his from the patent money Q Lab controlled. After all he had helped to develop several of the gadgets and drugs and even helped to concoct the cover stories.

Jeff wasn’t sure exactly what the doctor was up to these days. It had been nearly five years since they had met face-to-face, though seven years previously they had begun secretly communicating over Xanga’s satellite. Jeff still remembered his astonishment when he discovered that they were routed through Telstar 42. He hadn’t known there were more than thirty of the communications satellites, including classified models. Obviously he couldn’t connect to the satellite away from Q Lab, or Gordon’s facility (wherever it was), but with broadband access to the internet he should be able to send a secure message to the doctor. Then, once he had access to his finances he could bankroll Acidity and perhaps even direct the monster’s energies against Q Lab.

Unfortunately Jeff realized that gaining access to his money might not answer all of his problems. He couldn’t let himself believe that Nightrider would really ignore him—even after this she would surely monitor his actions. In fact, he sat upright as the thought struck him, she might have left a GPS chip in him. He had no way to check his suspicions without resorting to a lab, and he didn’t dare risk the chance of leading Nightrider somewhere he might use as a base of operations. Cursing Nightrider and her ilk Jeff ruffled through several drawers until he found a pencil and pad of paper. Hours and seemingly reams later he finally drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Acidity was definitely not a morning person, though as James Faulkner he had needed to rise early most mornings. Now that he had set himself up as a self-styled acid lord he set his own schedule as much as possible and expected the world to conform. This morning he had tried to sleep in, comfortable under the surface of his acid spa. His rest was disturbed however as George tossed a small rock into the bubbling acid.

“Frank called, master.”

“Well? What did he say?”

“The police are coming here.”

“WHAT?!? When? How many? Why didn’t he find out sooner?”

Overwhelmed George failed to answer any of his master’s questions. Frustrated, Acidity finally managed to restrain and calm himself. “How long do we have George?”

“He said it would be a few hours yet. The psychic’s drawings weren’t too clear.”

“Psychic? What the—” He broke off as the stranger strode in through the open door. No, wait, his name was Jeff

“I finally convinced George here that I needed to talk to you again. What’s wrong?”

“Apparently the police have a psychic helping them to find this base. I might be able to fight them off, but I can’t chance loosing my minions—you on the other hand…”

“Wait just a minute buddy,” Jeff interjected. “I told you about the police, remember? Look, this psychic is just a front. I’m sure he is the one my former associates have used before. This time they probably fed him information from Ed. The police will eventually come right here and know exactly what to do.”

“I agree. What can you do to help me?”

“George took credit card information from that hotel, right? If you give me some of that data and at least one actual card then I’ll be able to contact my financial advisor. I can get the funds from him to lease a building in town—probably something next to the slums. With your construction minions and other discrete people that we can hire we’ll be able to retrofit the building to accommodate your unique needs.”

“Hmm…a most ambitious plan. But I approve. Take George and make your plans. Once you have access to the building go there and call me.”

“That sounds good sir, except that I don’t think I should go near the building any time soon. You can take care of Ed by firing him, or whatever you do to former minions—but I suspect my former associates might be able to track me. Now don’t panic, I have my towel and I’m sure they can’t hear or see what I do, but they might have implanted a GPS locater chip. Until I get access to better equipment I won’t be able to know for sure.”

“I will certainly deal with Ed. Your former associates will not get any more information from him after tonight. But I find this most suspicious. What guarantee do I have that you will honour this bargain?”

“Well you don’t,” Jeff quickly replied. But I can make assurances. I’ll have George with me, or any of your other minions if you prefer. I’ll also give you further details about my former operations. I have to ask that you don’t act on this information unless something happens to me though.”

“Hmmm,” Acidity rumbled. “Very well, I shall consider your terms. Now what is this information?”

“I was employed at a large government facility underneath the Mammoth Mountains. I am not sure where the main entrances are anymore, but it is within mere minutes of Daze Springs. The area I worked in is known as Q Lab—if anything happens to me or you are attacked then know that the one known as Nightrider is responsible.

“Also,” the former Q Labber continued. “My financial advisor is located somewhere in the area—his name is Dr. Gordon. Tell him that Captain Kirk sent you to look for more tribbles and he should be able to help you.”

“How can I find this Dr. Gordon?”

“That I don’t know, not exactly. But you can’t mistake this one for anyone else. He is quite secretive, but flamboyant. He is running his own lab somewhere in the valley or nearby. He’ll probably be hiding in some grand dramatic place where nobody would look for him unless they knew him very well. Oh, and when you tell him about Kirk don’t say ‘live long and prosper’ whatever you do.”

“You seem to have a fascination with Star Trek,” the acid lord remarked dryly.

“Occupational hazard in a job that seems like science fiction.” Jeff shrugged. “I’ve never liked the show myself though, I just enjoy using it.”

“Very well, you and George will leave in twenty minutes. Take the black Land Rover in the corner of the compound. The rest of us will move out into the countryside and wait for your signal.”

“Take care pardner.” With a jaunty wave Jeff left the hall. Acidity hoped that he had made the right choice. If not he was determined to hunt Jeff down and turn him into the most mindless minion imaginable.

* * *

“Turn in here George.”

“Why?” The minion was surly. Even before his baptism by acid he had never enjoyed driving. Now he had to devote more resources than ever to the task.

“Because I’m hungry and they accept credit cards, that’s why!” Jeff retorted.

“Okay. Master put the card in there.” He pointed to the glove box.

“Really?” I wouldn’t think he could get in a car without ruining it.”

“Special suit.” George grunted as he pulled to a stop.

“May…take…der?”

Jeff spoke loudly from the passenger seat. “Two double Dharma burgers, one extra large fries, and a peanut butter shake. Oh, and two fortune cookies.”

“Tha…e…eight fifteen.”

Unlike some of his fellows Jeff hadn’t left Elfaeran Base in several years, and he had sorely missed Island Burger’s fast food. Once he paid and took the food from George he tossed the driver one of the fortune cookies.

“What does it say big man?”

“Can’t read while driving. Here.” With that George dumped the cookie into his mouth and chomped down. He pulled the fortune from between his teeth and gave the paper to Jeff. “You read it.”

“Um, okay…” Jeff’s voice trailed off as he desperately searched for a napkin. Finding none he gritted his teeth and unfolded the paper. “ ‘No man’s knowledge can go beyond his experience.’ Hmm, I wonder if that is still true in the information age. Eh, whatever. Now, what dose mine say? Oh, ‘Good laws lead to the making of better ones; bad ones bring about worse.’ Now wasn’t that enlightening old buddy?”

George grunted and didn’t speak until they reached the public library. Once inside Jeff made a beeline for the nearest computer. After creating a new Hotmail account he sent a message to another long dormant account and downloaded the file attached to the automatic reply. If Q Lab tracked him to this computer he was sure Mouse Tail would be able to recognize his own handiwork even as he was unable to pull any data from the computer. Once past the library firewalls and filters Jeff was able to access one of his many secret e-mail accounts. It only took him a few minutes to compose a message to Gorgon and send it on its untraceable way.

As the two men walked out to the Land Rover George asked what they would do next.

“Wait. Well, buy a cell phone with the number I gave to Gordon. But then we wait.”

* * *

“Dr. Gordon?”

“Yes Miss Christianson?”

“You have a message from a Jeff Smark, sir.”

“Thank you. Please forward that to my internal e-mail and then delete your copies.”

“Yes, sir.” Once this simple task was done Susan turned her attention back to her blog. She was sorely tempted to drop Lakota’s blog from her blogroll. He hadn’t posted anything about his new job in nearly two weeks! For a brief moment she thought about changing jobs herself, but she couldn’t really. Even if Dr. Gordon had lost his medical license years ago the board hadn’t been fair about it. He was a nice old man and deserved better. Of course from Susan’s perspective forty was old and sixty was positively ancient.

* * *

As he walked into his new headquarters building under the cover of darkness Acidity craned his neck up. The building had a good look to it, even if it was run down. He even appreciated the large neon sign, currently powered down to mask his entrance. Yes, the old Star Tribune would provide the perfect cover for his operations. If he could start running the paper again he might even be able to use it against that cursed Marla woman!