“Hey!” Mike Martin jumped up and followed me. “Can I finish your donut?”
“Go ahead,” I snapped and reached in my back pocket.
“I love fresh Top Pots. In the joint, they only gave us those bland powdered ones that came in boxes. Is that a laser?”
“Shut up.” I pointed my laser at the security door, but on second thought put it away. It was Spaceforce issue and each discharge would be recorded. Then, I’d have to fill out ten forms to report when, where and what I shot at. I’d also have to apply for new ammo that was at last check, on back order for at least six weeks. Instead, I reached in my other pocket and pulled out my Glock. I put a bullet right in the middle of the locking mechanism. The door swung open.
“Nice,” Mike commented, his mouth full of glazed chocolate. “Is that Spaceforce standard issue now? I may need to rethink my own means of defense.”
“No, it’s my personal piece.” I stuck the barrel under his chin. “All the ammo is mine so no one will ever know if one or two are missing, Sweetie.” Mike threw up his hands and smiled crookedly.
“It was safer in the joint. At least, I knew what was in Big Al’s pocket.”
“Get down there and find that Rogarian trader before that ass from ARCA screws it all up. I just hope he doesn’t get Jerry killed.”
“Jerry? You mean the guy with glasses and the curly hair? He looked like a schmuck.”
“Shut up!” Now, I poked the Glock into Mike’s back. “Get moving.”
“Going, going.” Mike scampered down the ladder and disappeared into one of the conduit tunnels just as the emergency exit door swung open again. That big headed Martian was framed in the dim terminal light.
“Jerry?” He asked as a tear large enough to fill a bathtub, dripped from his eye.
“You know Jerry?” I lowered my gun.
“Fogweet love Uncle Jerry.”
Good. Good. Unless, he meant he’d love to eat Uncle Jerry.
“Do you think you could find Jerry and maybe, not hurt him?”
“Fogweet never hurt Uncle Jerry. Fogweet hurt Derrick if you want?”
“Maybe.” It would save me a bullet. “Come on, Fogweet. You lead the way.” His big head lit up as he descended down the ladder into the darkened tunnel.
“Uncle Jerry give Fogweet ice cream and candy and lots of pretty lights. Fogweet love Uncle Jerry, but not like Fogweet love Marla. Fogweet love Marla because she make Fogweet’s head go boom.”
“Good, Fogweet,” I sighed, following him through the murky crap that lined the floor of the tunnel. I was glad the light was so dim as I didn’t want to imagine what was collecting on the bottom of my shoes.
“Marla also make Fogweet’s …”
“I get it! Just find Jerry now!”
“Ok,” he mumbled, the light in his head growing marginally dimmer. “Lady don’t have to snap at Fogweet. Lady don’t have to be so mean.”
“Sorry,” I sighed again as my cell began to buzz in my pocket.
“Kate?” It was Jerry. “Are you anywhere near? We need some help down here.” I heard both Mike and Derrick swearing in the background.
“Are we?” I looked at Fogweet. He pointed his long finger.
“There’s Uncle Jerry.”