Chapter 12

Life is fucking good. My two furry buds are gonna be eating like royalty. Totally tits. Gotta show this to Dave.

“Got my first check from the trust, Dave. The furbags are gonna being eating steak and lobster.”

“Cuanto, dude?”

“Fourteen thousand, three hundred thirty three dollars and thirty three cents. The estate is paying in three installments.”

“Do a hacienda bar and grill?”

“Nah. Don’t want any crowds, and I don’t want to put up with Janice and Sharon. How ‘bout you, the furbags, and moi?”

“About that, Mark. It’s not good for you to be withdrawn. Janice and Sharon are our friends.”

“They’re your friends. And it IS good for me to be that way. They made a big chunk of change off of my work, then kicked me to the curb. I didn’t give them any shit about it. So it’s done. Let it lay there, man.”

“You and Sharon had something special and...”

“It’s over, Dave. No time or energy for the drama. I’m doing twenty four semester hours this term and next. No time for shit.”

Geez, Dave is being pulled into this fucking Peyton Place bullshit by Janice. Maybe Dave doesn’t have his shit together like I thought. He needs to grow a bigger pair. No problema, got two good buds right here.

“So how about it, my furry friends? Y’all up for some steak and lobster chow?”

What the fuck? That’s right, come on in anytime without a knock. Just bust the door down, woman.

“Mark, quit being a sulky baby, time for you to talk to Sharon...”

“What are you talking about?”

“I just came from The Shack. Sharon is in tears. How can you be so cold? Just because she brought in an engineer does not mean that she stopped caring for you, and you owe...”

“Because this is Dave’s place, I’m not gonna throw you out. So shut up and listen. One, Sharon stopped taking her birth control pills without telling me. Two, she hired the engineer that I specifically recommended to avoid, there were two others more qualified. Three, I don’t owe shit to anyone except to these two furry guys and to Dave ... Please get out of my room so I can finish this paper.”

Got those heavy hangers hanging lower, do I? What the fuck you waitin for? Get the fuck out, your majesty ... oh shit, here it comes. Fucking tears. You really think that’s gonna change shit? Where the fuck is Dave? ... Shit, now my furbags are getting upset from Madame Drama Queen. That’s it, I’m pushing you out the hatch.

“Relax idiots, it’s cool. And let this be a lesson to you, Nyota. In the long term, drama won’t work on me. How about we do this meditation shit a while?”

“Hey, Bob. How’s the bathtub sailor?”

“Eat shit, jarhead. Get all of those problems done?”

“Sorta.”

“Sort of? Did you do all of them?”

“I bullshitted the last three. How the fuck we supposed to calculate those ferro-mag resonance problems. Not enough spec data. You can’t derive the coupling coefficent. And think about this, the last problem had precession of the magnetic moment. So we gotta have the gyro-mag ratio. I am thinking that the old guy is slipping in some nuclear physics stuff. I’m sure as fuck not gonna do no NMR math.”

“So what did you do for the last three?...”

“Hey Becky. How’s the fairy force?”

“Greetings, assholes. You work the problems, Mark?”

“We’re talking about that. I think the old guy threw us a curve ball. For the ferro-mag stuff just assume an angular momentem for a sixty hertz excitation and a simple normal polarization, then go from there. Otherwise, don’t have a clue.”

“What are you laughing about, Bob?”

“See our two lab TAs, Becky?”

“So?”

“Notice how they avoid eye contact and stay away from us?”

“Probably afraid of this stupid jarhead.”

“Fuck off. I never touched the assholes.”

“You scared the shit out of those embeciles, Mark. And also because you made them look stupid in front of the class.”

“Well no shit, they are stupid. Post-grads who can’t set up a ref level for a simple dB measurement? ... Let’s knock this last lab out ... Y’all wanna come over for chow Saturday afternoon, celebrate our survival of another semester?”

Now that was some damn fuckin good chow. Had no idea that Bob was a grill-master. The two furbags sure as shit liked it.

“The geezer gave me a ‘B’ for the course. Never made less than a ninety two on any test or anything. Ya know why? Fucker said I had ‘poor class participation’.”

“You should appeal it. It’s a core course, man. Important stuff if you’re still thinking grad school.”

“Just what I need, more school staff members pissed at me. Not gonna risk anything until we’re done.”

“I think filing an appeal is worth the trouble, Mark. Doctor Wallace would support you.

“Dunno, guys. She’s sorta pissed at me.”

“Again or still?”

“Eat shit. She’s mad because I hurt the feelings of her two precious post-grads. I should have let them blow up the spectrometer.”

“Yeah? I think it’s because you made her and Doctor Hollinger grovel before you wrote the drivers for the DAQ boards.”

“No, what really chapped their dicks was that I made those fuckers go to personnel to get an exemption.”

“But you got paid for the work?”

“Nope. That’s what the exemption was for. Haven’t been a student employee for two years.”

Oh shit. Who the fuck invited her? Fuck. Isn’t that interesting, the idiot dog is not wagging his tail at her. Maybe the furbag is not an idiot.

“Hello Mark.”

“Uh ... hi, Sharon.”

“Who are your friends?”

“B and B, this is Sharon. Conversely, Sharon, they’re Bob and Becky.”

Please go away. Shit ... What did the gunny always do when we fucked with him? Yeah, pray to Odin, or was that Thor? Either way, one of you fucking gods needs to smite those tits into oblivion.

“What’s going on, Mark?”

“Nothing.”

“Can I have a beer?”

Shit, I wouldn’t give you a cup of water if you were in the middle of the Mojave. Becky is giving me the stink-eye? Fuck me. Yeah, you do it, empty my beers on that bitch. Poor character assesment on your part, Becky.

“Sharon is it? We only have light.”

“Thanks, Becky. So you two go to school with Mark?”

“We do.”

“You’re electrical engineering majors?”

“Yes.”

“So you’re helping Mark with his studies?”

What the fuck is so funny about that? Yeah, laugh your ass off, Becky.

“One of you gonna say what’s so funny?”

“Helping Mark? ... yeah, right...”

“I don’t understand, Becky.”

“Mark has carried the last three EE labs and a physics lab for the whole class, and he has totally raped any chance at a curve for the math classes.”

“How many beers have you had there, miss air farce? Shut up, woman.”

What the fuck? What did the idiot growl at? At Sharon? What’s going on here?”

“I’m gonna get more beer and chow and shit. See y’all...”

Gotta get my idiot dog away from this gaggle, something’s wrong.

Von’s on the north side? Yeah, more likely to have a decent ale, and most of the checkout women are hot.

“Let’s get some beer. And why did ya growl at her, buddy?”

What the fuck does the idiot think the threat is? Damn strange, he has never had problems with Sharon. Damn fucking strange.

“Ya know what? Haven’t been to the field for almost a year. Wanna get some chow and watch them land, idiot?”

“Been a while, Mark. Where you been?”

“Mostly school. How’s business?”

“Can’t complain. My assistant got his A&P license, he’s leaving next month.”

“Where’s the boy gonna do?”

“Corporate jets at San Jose.”

“That gonna screw your business?”

“Nah. Mostly do one or two annuals per week and sundry minor repairs. Nothing that would support two certified mechs. The big money these days is electrical systems.”

“Avionics?”

“Yeah, that’s a big part of it.”

“So hire a tech.”

“Nah. Not worth it.”

“There’s nothing for general aviation repair within fifty clicks, Merl. Why not?”

Geez, he’s looking at me like I’m a total maroon. Well, I probably am.

“I would need to set up an FAA certificed bench. And look at the planes sitting here. Meadowlark doesn’t have much high-end airframes. We have some commanches, and a few banana thirty fives and sixes, both its mostly low-end GA four-bangers. Shit, the Aeronca Seven, that I just finished the annual, did not even have an electrical system.”

“Dunno, man. We’re gonna see some really fancy and cheap stuff for GA birds in the future. What would it cost to set up a certified bench?”

“Last time I looked, at least eight thousand.”

“You have a place to put it?”

“Not in my shop. Probably would have to be the out-room next to the office shack.”

“If I wrote you a check for ten thousand, how long would it take to get an FAA cert?”

“Say what?!? Are you serious? ... Don’t really know. At least three months, probably more like six months.”

“Listen to me, old man. I got the dinero, and I could be your part-time tech. This could get me back into the cockpit.”

“Last time ya logged PIC?”

“Shit, probably over four years.”

“That’s nothing that a BFR couldn’t fix. Any complex time?”

“Nada. Just one fiftys, one seventy twos, Citabria, Varga, PA twenty eights, and about twenty hours right seat in a three ten as safety pilot; but not logged.”

“How many hours?”

“Under two hundred.”

“So you’d be close to insurable. Interesting.”

“What do you mean by ‘insurable’? What for?”

“For test flights after the maintanence sign-off. You’d need two fifty hours and a complex endorsement. Eventually you’d need to get a commercial license.”

“Yeah? ... Idiot, keep Merl company. I’m getting my checkbook.”

Fucking-A. This will be my graduation present. Wonder if Nyota would mind hanging out at the airfield?

Oh shit. What the fuck, over? Three cop coupes at the hacienda?

“Stay in the truck, idiot.”

These people do not look happy. Where the fuck are B and B? Where is Dave? Holy shit, that’s Sharon in the back of that cop car.

“What do you need, son?”

How about my allowance, Dad? Fucking asshole cops.

“I live here.”

“Let’s see some identification.”

“Sarge? We have Mark Watson...”

You don’t have no one, asshole.

“Bring him in.”

“Walk this way, son.”

Fuck you, Dad. Not going anywhere.

“No. Why are you people in Dave Khunle’s house?”

“Homicide investigation.”

“What? Who was killed?”

“Look son, we’ll talk to you in the house, please come inside.”

“Where were you between eleven thirty AM and one PM?”

“I will answer this question, then I want a lawyer and to make a phone call ... I was either in transit to and from, or at Meadowlark airfield. That’s it people. I need to make a phone call.”

“Stay right there, Mister Watson. We’ll get to that later.”

Shit. Where is Nyota?

“I need to find my cat. Have y’all seen a, mostly black, cat?”

“Just stay there, son.”

If that fucker calls me ‘son’ one more time...

“Mister Watson, is that your room?”

“Yep.”

“A cat is in there. Stay seated.”

Good, my little furbag is accounted for. So where the fuck is everybody?

What the unholy fuck!?! That’s a body bag. Who the fuck croaked?

“Who is that!? Who fucking died?”

“David Khunle. When was the last time you saw him?”

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Don’t fucking lose it. Think. Just fucking breathe. Shit.”

“What?”

‘When was the last time you saw him?”

“Dunno. Probably after eleven thirty.”

“Who was in this house when you departed?”

“Uh ... Bob and Becky. And Dave. And Sharon had just arrived.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. Not Dave. Why the fuck not me?

“Mister Watson?”

“Huh?”

“What was Miss Henderson’s demeanor?”

“Her fucking ‘demeanor’? What the fuck do you mean?”

“Her attitide. Her manner of speech.”

“I dunno. I was doing my best to ignore the bitch...”

“Sarge, the watch commander wants you to call.”

“Is there a phone other than the kitchen?”

“Yeah, in my room. On the desk. Next to the computer. Don’t freak out my cat.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. Breathing. Control your breathing, just like Dave taught. Shit, Dave is dead. What the fuck, Sharon killed him? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The idiot dog could tell she was going to do shit. Where is the furbag? Oh yeah, in the truck...

“Mister Watson?”

“Huh? What?”

“The Department of Justice has ordered us to take you to LA.”

“LA? No can do, man. This is Dave’s place. Gotta take care of it. And my dog and cat...

“Dog?”

“He’s in my truck, out front ... Why LA?”

“National Security Statutes. We can’t question you without the feds present.”

“Fuck ‘em. Tell them to come down here.”

Should have known. It’s mister excitement himself.

“Supervisory Special Agent Johnson. What the heck, over?”

“Mister Watson, you do seem to encircle yourself with interesting people ... Sergeant, you may conduct the interview, all others must exit the house.”

“Understood. Watson, you have been informed of your rights. Do you wish to have legal counsel during the interview?”

Shit. Probably gonna regret this.

“Nah, go ahead.”

“What was the nature of the conversation between Sharon Henderson and the others?”

“Not much. We talked about...”

“Can you tell me anything about what happened?”

“Not much. The Henderson girl stabbed the deceased victim, at least twice, before she was subdued by the two others, and these other two were also assault victims, although not fatally, having also recieved stab wounds. No known motive at this time. How long was your relationship with Henderson and what does she know about you?”

“Guessing that you’re asking me about what I said about the shit I did in the military. I only told her that I worked on F-4 avionics. She does know that I worked on systems that go into an Aegis missle cruiser. Nothing else.”

“Sounds good. You still going to school?”

“Yep. This is my last semester.”

“Any plans?”

“Gonna work part-time working on general aviation electrical systems at a local airstrip, at least for the immediate future.”

“The agency remains interested in you. With an engineering degree, you could easily be hired as a special systems analyst.”

Yeah, maybe I could work with that Big-titted analyst. Shit, what the fuck am I thinking? The last time I got in with law enforcement dweebs I almost got shot. Belay that, I was shot.

“Mister Watson?”

“Huh?”

“Perhaps now is not a good time to talk, considering the death of your friend. Please give me a call if you are interested in working for the agency.”

“Uh, sure.”

Yeah, right. Don’t hold your breath waiting for my dumb ass ... Shit. Guess it’s on me to call Janice. I’ll take the furbags to Merl’s shop.

“Mark? What’s up? Come on in.”

Shit, don’t look so fucking happy to see me, woman. How do I do this?

“Janice ... We lost Dave ... Dave died today...”

Shit. Get her to bed. Didn’t think that this would go well. Like the gunny said, ‘life sucks then you die’, or someone else does. Gonna be a long night.

“Want something to eat? Coffee is ready.”

“No. Fix yourself something.”

Shit woman, don’t turn that box on. Fuck.

“Oh my god!? Sharon stabbed him?!”

“Yeah. Was gonna tell you later. Turn the TV off.”

“Sharon? Why did she?”

“Don’t know. Just don’t know, Janice. She was acting kinda wierd when I left just before noon. So you don’t know why she would attack Dave?”

“We had a disagreement two nights ago about the engineer she had insisted that we hire. There was no anger or anything. I just don’t understand.”