Chapter 3

Spector programmed the autonav to take him home and considered opening his beer. The beer that was getting warmer by the moment just as surely as God was really fragging with him tonight. When Damon reached for the beer, he was reminded how uncomfortable he was in the Action Jumpsuit™ with the long coat stuffed inside. He unzipped and started pulling the duster out. As he pulled, the channeling ended. Blood trickled from Spector’s nose, his ears started ringing and he was left struggling to finish extricating the duster.

“Go to the nearest en route parking garage and park,” Damon ordered the autonav. The car turned right at the next corner and slowed as it made to enter a pay parking lot. “Stop immediately!” Spector ordered and the car quickly complied. “I said parking garage, not parking lot. I want covered parking.” The car resumed moving, passing by the lot. Another turn and a few blocks distant, the car pulled into an opening between two storefronts and drove down a ramp. “Stop and let me get a time ticket,” Damon said and the car pulled up to the ticket dispenser and he claimed the ticket when it slid out. The car drove down another ramp and shortly found an empty space and parked.

Getting out of the car with some difficulty, Spector staggered a step to the side, caught his balance by reaching out a hand to the car and steadying himself, stretched then unzipped the heavy jumpsuit all the way. He easily retrieved the duster, set the duster on the driver’s seat and the rig holding the pistol and machine pistol, then removed his forearm guards, setting them all atop the duster, and finished removing the jumpsuit. He folded the jumpsuit as neatly as possible and tossed it to the passenger seat, then reached into the center console and found a paper napkin from a fast food restaurant and wiped the blood from his upper lip and dabbed at his nose. Tearing off a strip and rolling it up, he plugged one nostril, then repeated the process for the other. Spector looked around, standing alone in the parking garage in his Armor Underoos®. He put the shoulder rig and pistols back on, then reluctantly donned the duster to conceal them.

He leaned into the car and grabbed a beer from the six pack, popped the top and took a long pull. Then Spector thought of possible trouble, like drinking in public, and reluctantly got back into the car. His head still throbbed and his ears rang. “Park on the top level,” Damon ordered the autonav, hoping it was open to the sky and therefore less likely some passerby would see him still drinking in public even though in the privacy of his car. He was in luck and the car parked itself, then shut off, leaving Spector alone with the patter of rain on the roof. Spector finished the beer, feeling a little better, then drank another while admiring the darkness around him created by the towering surrounding buildings. He sipped away a third beer with his eyes closed and music playing quietly on the radio. Damon was opening a fourth beer when it dawned on him he had nothing further to do and a comfortable bed awaited him at home instead of a car seat and he would be much better off resting at home than here alone.

He instructed the car to take him home. Spector ordered a halt when he saw a trash can near the exit ramp and disposed of the empty cans and paper napkin pieces. When Damon got back in he ordered the car to let him pay for the parking with a credcard and he fished out one of the cards he had gotten from the foiled robbers.

Thinking this through a bit more, Spector reset the transponder and morphing license plates, reset his destination, and had a spirit conceal him and the vehicle immediately and until well after he paid and was out of sight of any cameras. He wasn’t sure it would matter or help, but it didn’t really hurt to try.

A mile from the parking garage, Spector reset the transponder and license plate and changed his destination for home once again. As Damon tried to relax again, his mind started playing devil’s advocate. What if, they DID look up charges to their cred cards? What if they noted the purchase of the beer and umbrella? What if they searched the parking garage and found the beer cans and tied them to the purchase with the other card? What if they also retrieved the bloody napkin? Then they had a material link to him. And they had a shaman who might be able to track him. And WHERE did that shaman find a swamp domain to summon that spirit?

Knowing it would cause him unrest and knowing it was easily remedied, Spector changed back to the last transponder codes and license plate numbers and had the car return to the same parking garage. He burned another service as they approached it to get them all concealed, then took the time slip, retrieved his trash, exited in the same fashion as before and resumed the journey home with the same changes as before.

A few miles from home, Damon had just opened the fifth beer and was actually starting to think he would get there without further incident. After all, no gangs had attacked, actually, no gangs had come anywhere near him, no lightning struck him even during the downpour, and no cows fell out the sky.

No sooner had he removed the can from his lips after swallowing as much of the tepid liquid as he could bear, than flashing lights appeared behind him followed by a quick WAAAHH! from a siren. Spector looked back to see red and blue lights flashing at about grill height. His first thought was about the cache of weapons in the trunk. His next thought was the open beer in his hand. But surely I can’t get arrested for drinking and driving, the car was on autonav Spector thought. He put the beer inside the center console then instructed the autonav to pull over and stop. As the vehicle stopped and the engine shut down, Damon rolled down the window, noticing the rain had stopped.

Spector avoided looking in the mirror and the high wattage search beam focused on it. Before he knew what had happened he felt a brush against his chest and a voice asking, “What do we have here?” as the person who pulled Spector over snatched the Browning from his holster, almost as if it was known it was carried there.

“What’s your,” as recognition came, “probable cause,” Spector started, then let the protest trail off.

“Probable cause? I don’t need any probable cause. I’m the law, buddy,” the female said. “Now get your hoop out of there. Place your hand on the door and the other on the roof where I can see them as you get out.” The cop backed away a step and tucked the commandeered pistol in the back of her pants.

Spector got out as instructed and started to look back over his shoulder.

“Just keep looking straight ahead, mister,” she said, halting his movement. “Put your hands on top of the vehicle.”