Suicide, Inc

CHAPTER 19

Metal hand and real hand held out palm foremost, Cruz emerged from the skycar cabin. “Gents, this is a peaceable mission we’re embarked upon,” he assured the surrounding band of junglemen. “No need to cudgel or-”

“See, Kaanga? I told you we were coming on too strong,” said one of the junglemen who’d charged across the clearing.

“But isn’t that what they expect, Samar? What I’m saying is, the public expects jungle heroes such as us to be ferocious and-”

“Ferocious is one thing. Scaring the billybounce Out of them is-”

“Fellas,” cut in Cruz, “am I to assume you mean us no harm?”

“Oh, heck,” said Jazz from the skycar doorway, “I recognize them now. They’re just here for the Junglecon.”

“Isn’t that why you people dropped in?” asked the large blond Kaanga.

“Not exactly, no,” said Cruz. “We want to visit someone who resides here at Jungleland.”

Samar kicked at the sward with his bare foot. “What a flop this convention is turning out to be. I left a lot of responsibilities in my home jungle to come here and be a Guest of Honor,” he said. “I had a party of black-hearted ivory hunters to scare off, a lost city to find, not to mention-”

“You know who all these lads are?” Cruz asked the young woman quietly.

“Sure, being a newswoman I have to keep up with the celebrities in the Trinidad System,” Jazz answered. “Besides Samar and Kaanga, there’s Zago, Tabu and Wambi. Wambi’s the cute teen with the turban. They’re all of them well-known junglemen, or jungleboy in Wambi’s case. The park officials hoped having famous jungle personalities here would cause people to come flocking to their convention.”

“Seemingly it hasn’t worked.”

“…and wrestle crocodiles,” concluded Samar, brushing back his long yellow hair.

“Tell you what,” offered Cruz. “If we conclude our business rapidly, why, we’ll give your convention a quick look-in.”

“I even brought my elephants,” Wambi said. “Did you ever make a space shuttle flight with three cranky elephants?”

“As a matter of fact,” said Cruz, “once, when I was romancing a circus star who billed herself as Princess Pantha the Jungle Queen, I escorted not only three elephants but an entire-”

“Mr. Cruz,” reminded Jazz, “we’re on a rather tight schedule.”

“To be sure.” Before she could dodge he gave her cordial pat on the backside with his real hand.

“Audacious yet simple,” remarked Saint as he dusted off the windowsill in the abandoned warehouse prior to resting his elbow on it.

“Sure you can do this?” asked Smith.

Turning away from the view of the twilight canal, Saint said, “For a chap with my telekinetic gift, old man, it’s a piece of cake. Once we got ourselves a peek at Boss Nast in his skycar, there was no problem.”

Smith glanced at the wide, open doorway of the old warehouse. “Might as well commence then.”

The dapper green man rubbed his fingertips across his smooth forehead. “Actually I don’t have to materialize that heavy, gaudy vehicle,” he explained. “Rather I merely take over the controls and guide it here to our temporary lair.”

Saint’s eyes gradually closed, his body tensed.

Out on the darkening canal a nukebarge hooted as it went chugging by.

When Smith became aware of the sound of an approaching skycar, he drew out his stungun.

Saint opened his eyes, wiped perspiration from his face. “Our prey arrives, old chap.”

A large glittering black skycar came wooshing into the open warehouse to make a thumping, bouncy landing on the neowood planks of the dusty floor. The vehicle was decorated with inset gems on its fenders, wings and bumpers. A large golden N was emblazoned on the door of the passenger side.

And in the passenger seat a huge lizardman in a two-piece yellow bizsuit was pounding on the glaz window with both beringed hands. His lean humanoid driver was still struggling with the stubborn controls.

“One feels the need of a bit of privacy.” Saint gestured at the overhead door of the warehouse and it clattered shut.

The uniformed driver leapt free of the freshly-arrived skycar, going for a weapon under his coat.

Zzzzzummmmm!

Smith dropped him with a shot from his stungun and jumped over the sprawled body and went sprinting to the skycar. “Sit,” he advised Boss Nast, looking in at him from the driver’s side.

The lizard raised his dark glasses to get a better look at Smith. “Youse is a dead man,” he explained in a grumbly voice.

“I want you to climb, very sedately, out of this crate,” instructed Smith, keeping his gun aimed at the fat man.

“Do youse have any idea who you’re ordering around, buddy?”

“You sure as hell better be Boss Nast or we wasted the last two hours setting this all up.”

“Yeah. I’m Boss Nast and youse are Mr. Dipshit from this moment hence, buddy.”

“Out, quick.”

The hefty lizardman came grunting out of his bejeweled skycar. “What mob are youse with anyway? Only some jerk with crap for brains would try to-”

“All you have to do, Boss, is tell me where Liz Vertillion is.”

“Huh?”

“Lieutenant Vertillion of the Salvation Squad. Where is she?”

The lizard’s laugh was a dry, brittle noise. “That nosy bitch? Yeah, she pissed me off, too,” he recalled. “But nowhere near as much as youse, buddy.”

“I want to find her.”

“Don’t let me stop youse,” Boss Nast said. “Look all youse want, buddy, and when you quit, I’ll come and get youse and put your-”

“One is beginning to doubt the efficacy of verbal persuasion and calm reason,” put in Saint. Reaching into a pocket, he produced a brand new truthdisc. “What say we avail ourselves of this jolly gimmick I borrowed from the local minions of the law?”

“Might as well.”

The lizardman’s eyebrows climbed up from behind the protection of his smoky glasses. “Youse guys are really asking for grief if you try to stick that doohickey on me.”

“Thing is, Boss,” said Smith as he took the metal disc from Saint, “you’re not going to be around to do anybody any harm for a while.”

“Huh? Listen, buddy, if youse rub me out my mob’ll-”

“Nope, we’re merely going to transport you to another clime.”

“How do you think youse can-”

“They call it telekinesis, old thing.”

Whamp!

Smith slapped the disc against Boss Nast’s scaly green neck. “Let’s get to the questions,” he suggested.