Episode LXIII

Marla Stewart and Molly Murphy got along like oil and water. Except oil and water separate because they are different; these two were too much alike. Each of them was used to being in charge and used to getting her way, and neither was prepared to back down or compromise if it could be helped. However, since they were stuck with each other for a while and Agent Murphy couldn’t leave her post as a “resort employee”, Marla did what she could to ease the tension by leaving Acid Resort as much as possible during business hours. Agent Evans, who was posing as a guest, was still able to follow her and provide “security”.

Marla had another reason for leaving the resort: she was determined to do her own investigation to try and discover who had been spying on her. The difficulty with this was that she had to do it with a bodyguard in tow.

The first line of investigation she tried was regarding the Mammoth City gangs. She hadn’t paid much attention to them since the murder trial she had testified in that had earned her a place in the Witness Protection Program. She had, in fact, done everything she could to avoid anything relating to her former life. Thus far this had seemed to be a working strategy, but now things were changing. She was beginning to have doubts about how long her current life as a quiet resort owner would last; this time, however, she did not intend to run and hide.

The Daze Springs Public Library had years of newspaper archives from the major Mammoth City newspapers. While Marla pored over years of news articles, trying to understand what had happened in the city since she’d been gone, Agent Evans stayed within sight of her, reading a novel. After a few days of this, she developed what she thought was a coherent picture of things. The information was not all explicitly printed, but for someone who knew the city it could be found between the lines.

Over the past couple of decades, the crime rate in Mammoth City had grown slightly faster than the population, while the police force had grown steadily more corrupt. An unofficial truce of sorts had developed between the gangs and the authorities: the city was divided into two halves. The upper half – in elevation as well as affluence – generally belonged to the law-abiding citizens. This part of the city was properly policed, and crime there, while not unheard of, was kept in check. The lower half of the city, however, was mostly ruled by the gangs. The police made nominal patrols of the area, but regularly accepted bribes to keep their activities to a minimum. Meanwhile, the area controlled by the gangs had gradually grown larger as the years passed.

All of this was interesting, and it felt good to get back up to speed with what was going on in her old home (even if the news was depressing), but she didn’t find any useful information about the more recent changes in gang behavior. There were a few references to the gangs acting with greater unity, and since the recall election was in two weeks there were a lot of references to the new mayoral candidate who was running on an anti-gang platform, but no there were no details that seemed relevant to her situation. Belatedly, it occurred to Marla that the Witness Protection Program had better intelligence sources than newspaper archives, and that she wasn’t likely to find out much that they didn’t already know through traditional research channels.

Around the time that she gave up on the library, Marla began to notice something that had been going on for a while. Her appetite had been gradually increasing, and she had also been having specific cravings, mostly for vegetables and dairy products. Mostly she thought this was strange since she had been spending so much time sitting down and reading, getting less exercise than usual. At least the cravings were for healthy things.

Not knowing where else to turn in researching Mammoth City gangs (short of actually traveling to Mammoth City, which Agent Evans would surely protest), and not knowing who else from her past life might be spying on her, Marla decided to shift her attention to a more recent problem. It had been a while since she’d had any run-ins with Acidity, but she knew better than to assume that she’d seen the last of him. Monster rumors continued to circulate (though thankfully without reference to her resort) and “zombie” rumors were starting to become more frequent than the monster ones. Really, it was surprising that Daze Springs hadn’t made any national tabloid headlines yet.

Not that Marla was likely to see the tabloids if they did. Another thing she discovered while finding reasons to leave the resort was that the public bathrooms there were not the only places she couldn’t go anymore without getting a debilitating headache. The list of such places included grocery stores, department stores, fast food restaurants and gas stations. Not all of them, just a lot of them. So far she hadn’t found a pattern, but shopping was becoming a genuine adventure.

Trying to track down Acidity seemed like it ought to be easy. He had to be the most recognizable entity in the town – even in the state, as far as that went – and the people who worked for him were highly noticeable as well. But wandering around hoping to run into one was a highly frustrating activity. After trying it for a while, she reflected that even if she did find one of his goons, she didn’t know what she’d do. Randomly grabbing a person off the street and demanding that he take her to see his master was another one of those activities to which her bodyguard might object. As was trying to follow someone unobserved.

But surely, she thought, someone else must have noticed what’s going on. All those zombie people have to have friends and family; he can’t have nabbed everyone they know or he’d have half the city by now. There’s got to be someone else either looking for him, or at least trying to find out what’s going on with those people… That’s when it hit her: There were other people who knew about Acidity: the employees at D.S. Scientific Studies Lab. The last time she’d tried to contact D.S.S.S.L, they’d denied that Acidity existed, but that was when they still had him in captivity. Maybe now that he was on the loose, they would be more willing to talk.

The lab site was still in a state of semi-chaos in the wake of the explosions and fires. Construction of new permanent buildings was in progress, but meanwhile the employees were carrying on their work in temporary structures. It took some effort just to figure out who she should talk to. After nearly two hours of waiting (punctuated by loud demands to speak to whoever was in charge) Marla finally was granted an audience with Dr. David Jockner. She remembered him as the man she had spoken with the morning they originally captured Acidity. As soon as they were alone in his office, she decided to remind him of this.

“Dr. Jockner, you and I both know that we’ve met before, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t pretend otherwise,” she began.

“Why would I pretend otherwise?” He seemed genuinely puzzled.

“You tell me. Last time I called here, you guys pretended that you’d never spoken to me before.”

“Ah. Hmm.” He thought for a moment. “When did you call? Before the explosions?” She nodded. “I can see how that might have happened. It’s my own fault for not setting up better lines of communication. As you can imagine, we didn’t want a media circus over your monster, and thought it best to keep it as quiet as possible. Very few of our own people beyond those who helped with the capture were in the loop, and we did what we could to keep rumors to a minimum. Whoever answered the phone had probably heard nothing of any such creature, and if they checked, there was no mention of you in the files.”

“You could have arranged for calls from me to be forwarded to your office.”

“And I should have; as I said, this was my fault. To be honest, it didn’t occur to me that you’d have a reason to call again.”

Marla shrugged. The man might or might not be telling the truth, and at this point she didn’t care. She was ready to forgive and forget if he’d help her out now. “Fair enough,” she said aloud. “I assume you are aware that Acidity was responsible for your explosions, and that he’s still loose in the city?”

“What did you call it?”

“Acidity. Are you telling me you had him in here for weeks and you didn’t even find out his name?”

“I’m a bit confused. Assuming this is a name you’ve given to the creature, how would we—”

“I didn’t name him! What do you think I am, his mother?”

“How do you know it’s a ‘he’? Anatomically the creature does appear to be male, but we only discovered this on close inspection, which was difficult due to its – his – other peculiarities. I was under the impression that you hadn’t seen it up close.”

“Oh—well, I have since he escaped, but I knew before then because that’s how his minions refer to him. But even without, well, looking, you could tell it’s a ‘he’ by his voice.”

“I think I need to sit down; feel free to take a seat yourself; I think we’ll be here a while. And slow down please; one startling revelation at a time.” Marla sat as requested while Dr. Jockner did the same. He took a deep breath, and then asked, “Minions?”

Ninety minutes later she had related the entire history between herself and Acidity, with some slight modifications to avoid discussing her own “peculiarities”. It felt good to be able to finally talk with someone about everything, but as with the newspaper research the end result left her no wiser than before. The flow of information was almost all in one direction. Still, he gave her contact information for a lab employee named Abby Gillis, who she could call if she wanted to discuss things further. Abby, he explained, was currently working from Mammoth City, but made trips to Daze Springs two or three times a month. Marla felt certain that he knew more about Acidity than he was letting on – they must have discovered something about him at least from a physiological perspective – but she decided it was no use pressing the issue just then. Promising to keep in touch with Abby, she thanked Dr. Jockner and left.

Although she had already eaten lunch, Marla went to a restaurant (one that didn’t give her headaches) after leaving the lab, and ordered a large meal. She was nearly finished with it before she realized that it was her fourth large meal of the day. All this eating is going to make me fat, she thought. But she didn’t seem to be able to stop herself; she was just so hungry lately. When she stopped in to check on things at the resort, she weighed herself in her private bathroom (which fortunately she could enter without trouble) and found that she had, in fact, gained over thirty pounds. But I don’t look any different! Where is all that mass going? She wondered if she could visit a doctor without revealing her superhuman strength.

With regard to Acidity, Marla was running out of options. If the people at D.S.S.S.L. didn’t even know that he could talk, it seemed unlikely that anyone who hadn’t been injected knew much about him at all. This put her back at her original plan of hunting him down herself. The problem, she reflected, was that she knew next to nothing about detective work. Plus, it was hard to do anything clandestine with Evan Evans following her around. But perhaps there was another option. If detective work needed done, maybe she could hire a detective. It would have to be someone who didn’t mind dealing with the shadier element of the town, someone who was used to dealing with unusual cases, and above all, someone who would take the case and keep quiet about it without asking too many questions. Could such a detective be found? Probably not in the phone book, but maybe if she asked around in seedy places like pawn shops…

Early that evening (after another big meal which she fixed back at the resort to save money) Marla found herself inside a small office well hidden within a run-down building. There were no signs advertising its presence from the outside; Frank Evans (no relation to Evan Evans, who was curious about what she was doing but polite enough to accept that she wouldn’t tell him) only accepted business that came to him by word-on-the-street advertising. For her own part, she’d used a false name in setting up the appointment and wore a hood that concealed her features. Before the incident with the expired chemicals, Marla would have been nervous to enter a place like this, but now she was just pleased to see that the detective didn’t look like a zombie, although if he had it might have saved her some time.

“Who’s the guy outside?” He asked as soon as she came in. Marla was impressed that he’d noticed.

“He’s just my bodyguard,” she answered. “Don’t worry; he’ll leave us alone.”

“A bodyguard? Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I don’t trust you. But if I thought you were a physical danger just now, the bodyguard would be in here, not out there.”

“Touché. What can I do for you, Miss…Smith, was it?”

Marla hesitated, but decided that if he were as good a detective as she’d been told, she wouldn’t be able to keep her identity a secret from him. It was just as well that she hadn’t used her real name while asking around, but now it seemed reasonable.

“My real name is Marla Stewart,” she said, pulling back her hood. In the dimly lit office she failed to notice the look of shock and panic that momentarily passed over his face. “I want you to track down information on someone.”

“That’s what most people want from me. Who’s the subject?”

“I assume you heard the rumors a while back about a monster living in the pools at Acid Resort?”

“Yes,” he said without inflection.

“And you’ve heard more recent rumors about a monster living somewhere in the city, as well as the ones about people who act like zombies?”

“I hear all the rumors. Get to the point.”

“The two monsters are the same, and his name is Acidity. The zombie people work for him.” She paused, unsure whether he was taking her seriously.

“Go on,” he said in the same monotone.

“I want you to track down information about Acidity: where he lives, how many zombies he’s got, what he’s up to, anything you can find out.”

“I see.”

“Do you think I’m crazy?”

“Does it matter?”

“What I mean is, if you take this case, will you take it seriously?”

“I take every case seriously. Let’s talk about finances.”

Before she left, Marla made arrangements to meet the detective again in ten days. Three days before that appointment, she discovered that her appetite was returning to normal, but that she had gained a grand total of ninety-one pounds. She even bought a new scale to be sure. This is ridiculous, she thought. I still look the same as I did a month ago. There’s no possible way I could be hiding that much fat. At least with her super strength, it was no problem hauling the extra weight around.

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!

Episode XLVIII

Frank Evans, Private Eye, sat at his desk reading his copy of the Daze Springs Gazette. Business was slow, and he was bored. Why else would he read the paper?

Frank was not known as the most ethical PI in the world. That's one reason why his little hole-in-the-wall office was in the North Side Slums. But it had been good for business. Everyone knew they could come to him to retrieve anything, no questions asked. He had made quite a good living at it over the years, keeping the cops off his back at the same time. They hardly dared venture into his neck of the woods.

Today, he was scanning the paper for any news of the latest craze in Daze Springs, the rumors of the monster. While the local media was treating it as rumors since there were no photos, Frank new better. He had seen the way several people in his neighborhood had been acting recently, and he knew there was more then a myth to this story. Plus, he'd been doing a little investigating on his own. The good rumor was that the monster was based just outside of town.

He checked his watch again. 3:15 PM. He decided to close up early and see if he could find out anything for himself.

***

Frank was marched into camp at gunpoint. He was rather embarrassed to have been captured by these drones, but he had to admit, they were good. Dumb, not much for meaningful conversation, but good.

He was marched straight to the main building and shoved inside.

The site that greeted him was horrific. The rumors of the monster were indeed true; Frank had confirmed them himself.

"Who are you and what do you want?" the monster growled.

Frank nervously rubbed his balding head. "I'm Frank Evans, PI, and I'm here with a business proposition for you."

"Why would I even want to do business with you?"

"Because I found you and know the truth?" Frank was nervous, but he couldn't help feel a little smug by his success.

"That will mean nothing. I can turn you into one of my minions and that will be the end of that." Acidity raised his arm.

Frank's smugness left just as quickly as it had come. "But that's why I'm here," he stuttered as he took a couple steps back. "Your minions have not gone unnoticed. While the papers won't report it, everyone is talking about the strange people in town who stare vacantly at everyone they meet. It won't be too much longer before your secret is out."

Acidity lowered his arm. "I'm listening."

Frank continued. "I'd like to work for you. Part time, on the side. I can be your eyes in town and learn things that the other minions won't. And by keeping all my bodily control to myself, I won't be detected."

Acidity was silent for several minutes. Sweat was poring onto Frank's brow by the time he finally spoke. "Very well. It will be as you say. I will expect reports from you every two days. And Mr. Evans?"

Frank allowed himself a smile. "Yes?"

"If I find out you are double crossing me, I will inject you. Or worse."

"Obviously, you have never heard of me before. I always treat my clients above board. It's everyone else I stab in the back."

"Very well. Your first assignment will be to learn all you can about Marla Stewart."

"The owner of the resort? Why?"

"Because, this woman keeps crossing me and winning. At our last encounter, she threw me for three blocks. It took two days of soaking in my acid bath to recover from that. And the addition of five more minions to cover up my sudden appearance from out of the sky as well. I also want to get more info on Abby Gillis."

"The recent lotto winner?"

"I see you keep up on the news. Very good. You may be of use to me. And if you aren't?" Acidity raised his arm threatening. "See you back here in two days, Mr. Evans."

On his way back to his office, the through crossed Frank's mind that he had made a deal with the devil. But he shrugged his shoulders and kept walking. It wasn't the first time and certainly wouldn't be the last.