Chapter 75

Flew to Bud, put the Sandy away, grabbed my bicycle and pedaled to the turn-around for the 18 bus. The bike ride is more exciting than the flight. It shouldn’t be ... I have all the flashing LED lights required by law ... and a bunch more. But automobiles and trucks don’t seem to care. A girl could get killed out here ... and every year one or two do.

“Keep Austin Weird.” The City motto. That includes female sacrifice ... at least one a year. I stay on the bike paths. Those can be dangerous enough.

I was there when Two made her arrest ... and shooting. He must have been worried because he drew first ... even put a bullet between her feet. Hers went in his forehead and out the back. Fast don’t mean shit if you can’t make your first shot.

After the investigation ... the facts were that he had taken other Israeli students to the ‘back’ and they went missing. And here I thought she was here to watch over me.

The main thing, though ... terrorist sleeper cell. The raid on his home found lists ... of cities ... cities with universities to be exact ... where subversives had taken years to establish ‘I am a good guy’ backgrounds and had positions of authority. No names ... just cities.

It took months to find the link ... universities ... and discover that not much could be done. It’s difficult to winnow the chaff when everybody is a good guy.

About the shot ... enclosed space gunshots are particularly loud. A nine mil is uncomfortable ... Two had a CZ 52 ... possibly the loudest commercially available handgun. Louder than a Ruger 30 Carbine Blackhawk Revolver. If you’ve never shot one in a closed room ... don’t. I had to sit up-front in all my classes for a week. I still have a reoccurring ringing in my ears during times of stress.

Day one was ... interesting. Standing in the hall outside my advisor’s office.

“Visiting?” A possibly nineteen year old person of the male species of Homo sapiens.

“Waiting on my faculty advisor,” I said.

“Student?” The tone was redolent with disbelief. “Freshman?”

“That is under discussion,” I replied.

The door opened, a terrified student exited.

“Next?”

I went in ... the look was obvious... ‘wrong size wrong age.’

“Who’re you?”

“Tyche Flintkote.” I pronounced in the British style. ‘Nike’ with a ‘T’ instead of the ‘N.’

“Ah ... Ti sh.” Long ‘I’and nearly silent ‘sh.’ He said.

“Nope ... Australian National... ‘Ti key.’ I’m pretty serious about it.”

“Tyche it is then,” he wasn’t a bit stuffy. “Let me look at your record.”

“Tell me, please. I haven’t seen them.”

He played with my paperwork ... eyes growing large and eyebrows receding to his hairline.

He resorted to his phone ... an actual desk phone. He mentioned my name, listened. Shrugged. Hung up. “Junior.”

From the last page in my record ... he handed me a tear-off with my classes, buildings and rooms. He walked me to the door and said, “Any problems ... call my secretary and arrange an appointment. Glad to have you.” “Next.”

Before the door closed, I heard, “Who is that?”

SLAM