Phantom Drone VIII

Yep, that was me, standing naked in a stranger’s suburban home because all my clothes, drenched from landing in their backyard pool, were currently in their dryer. The Phantom Drone was outside by that same pool, getting recharged via an external outlet.

I had assumed no one was home. I had assumed wrong.

Some college-aged kid stood before me, mouth agape in total shock. When I first saw him, his back was to me, and he had large earphones plastered to the sides of his head while he played a first person shooter. That would explain how I could waltz right past him to their laundry room unnoticed. A greater mystery was how my brain had registered neither his presence nor his game when I first entered the place. Perhaps he had been elsewhere in the house when I first entered, and had come out to play his video game while I'd been busy tearing out the clothes that were already in their dryer and replacing them with my own. Yeah, that was probably it.

My mind raced for an explanation that would keep him from calling the police. I had violence in mind, but I was going to try negotiation first. Because I’m nice like that.

“Look…!” I began, “Stay cool, man. I don’t want to hurt you. I just…”

“Kevin!” came a woman’s voice from further back in the house, and she had the nerve to stride into her own living room as if everything was normal.

“Did you take those clothes out of the dryer and put them away like I told you?” she complained and pointed a remote at the huge screen hosting the boy’s game. “I don’t care if you think you’re grown, because if you’re going to stay in my house and eat my food, then you’re going to have to do your share around here. Also, you can play your games in your own room, because I want to watch…”

And the woman froze with a gasp like she was trying to suck in the roof, her mouth open, her eyes bugged in horror, remote falling from her spastic fingers into the carpet. In the meantime, the screen switched over to some news program, bubbly hosts seated at a desk while “Deadly Crash” in big, capital block letters were displayed behind them over the picture of a wrecked, green pickup.

Time to say something clever.

“These are not the droids you’re looking for,” I said. Again. With the same gesture. Well, I tried to be clever. Short notice, you know.

“Hey!” the college boy cried with a sudden smile. “I know that old movie! I saw the original trilogy at my dad’s place just last week. In fact, I saw all those movies! That quote is from the first one, right?”

“Yeah, I agreed. “The first, and the best!”

“Nah man, the second one was better. Well, it’s actually the fifth one right? Because they actually started at movie number three, but then the prequels…”

“Kevin, there is a huge naked stranger in our home!!”

I remember thinking that she sounded like a crazy woman. What was she screaming for?

“Chill out Mom, we can’t call the cops on him. Calling the Police would be racist.

“Yeah!” I agreed, vigorously nodding my head. “Racist!”

“See Mom? He’s just some harmless homeless person, another victim of Capitalism’s cruelty. Yo dude, you hungry? We got eats in the fridge…”

“Get out of my house!!”

“Mom, stop it!” Kevin insisted.

“Help! Call the Police! Haaalp!!

“Mom!”

“Call the Police!”

“Really Mom? Why? So they can shoot this guy? Or beat him to death? What are you, a Republican?”

That accusation seemed to snap the woman out of her hysteria.

“N-No!” she stuttered, confused, flustered, turning red as a tomato. “I’ve never been a… But… but Kevin I… I just… I’ve always wanted to help the poor and I; I love all you minority people it’s just… He broke in our house, Kev. And he’s naked!”

“But Mom…!”

Kevin was saying something, but I really don’t remember what, because I noticed how the woman glanced at the TV, gasped, and then bent to snatch the remote off the floor. Upon standing, she pointed at the TV again, and it got much louder.

There was a press conference on screen. “Two Million Bounty for Johnson Still Unclaimed” was the headline, and a large picture of my smiling face was posted on the wall. A uniformed police officer was just leaving the podium, only to be replaced by none other than Noah Wang, my favorite neighbor from the gated community where I used to live.

“Dante, wherever you are, you need to turn yourself in, bro!” he pontificated, his eyes glaring out of the screen and deep into my soul. “I know you feel trapped, humiliated, and infantilized by your marriage, but that is a situation you created. You are ruining people’s lives, man. You are creating a big… stick, so I suggest you stop this foolishness before you get beat to death with it!”

“Holy… they’re talking about you!” Kevin gasped. “You… you’re Dante Johnson, the Phantom Drone guy!”

“Oh my God!” his mother cried, both hands on her head. “We… Kevin, we can get the bounty!”

“No, you can’t!” I roared.

“He’s right, Mom,” Kevin agreed. “We don’t want their filthy blood money!”

“Yes, we do!!”

“You shut your mouth!” I bellowed.

For a second or two, the woman stared at her son in disbelief. But then she made a dash for it…

“Get her!” I shouted, and Kevin cleared the space between himself and his mother with one mighty leap, hurdling over the couch to land on her back and bear her down to the floor: a lion taking down an antelope.

“Kevin!” the woman shrieked, struggling with her considerably larger son, “Kevin! Get off me this instant or your grounded for life, mister!”

“Sorry Mom, but I can’t let you be racist!”

“You stay on that racist bigot,” I ordered. “I got duct tape in my backpack, we’ll bind her and gag her for the next two hours or so.”

“No!” Kevin shouted, panting, visibly struggling to hold down his prisoner. “Don’t hurt my mom. We’ll lock her in tool shed by the pool! The keys are in the top drawer over there!”

Following where the boy pointed, I hustled over to the island that hosted the sink.

“No man, the one by the fridge!”

I found the key to the metal shed out back. Upon opening it, I found it stacked with tools. It was also where the family kept their lawn and pool chemicals. I made sure never to touch the woman. Kevin dragged his own mother to the tool shed and shoved her inside. I even convinced him to bind the woman’s hands in front of her with duct tape.

“Now you stay quiet,” I warned her. “I’ll only be a couple more hours, then you’re free. You start making noise, and I’ll gag you!”

“Yeah Mom,” Kevin added. “It’s gonna be alright. It’s just a couple of hours. I bet you could do that standing on your head!”

“Kevin, you unbelievable moron,” the woman sneered. “Wait till your father hears about this!”

“What, so he can give me a medal? See you soon, Mom. Close the door, man.”

“No, you close the door, Kevin,” I commanded. “And you lock it, too!”

The boy shrugged, then proceeded to close the shed door and lock it with his mother inside. Just before the door closed, the woman burst into tears. We could still hear her sobbing pitifully as we walked away from the shed. I began to feel downright awful, but then told myself it was only for a few hours.

“Nothing in this house will fit you,” the boy told me as we reentered the home. “But you should still probably wear a towel or something.”

“Yeah, good idea,” and within the next few minutes, there was a soft, comfy towel tucked around my waist hiding my unmentionables.

“So!” the boy began, as he sat down on the couch. “That thing out there. It’s the Phantom Drone, right? Can I fly it?”

“Can I murder you?”

“What?”

“What?”

“Don’t worry my Brother, I won’t turn you in. Our people must stick together!”

“’Our people?’” I repeated, feeling an eyebrow rise.

“Yes, I’m just like you, my Brother!” the kid insisted.

“You’re blonde haired, blue-eyed, and white as a damn sheet.”

“Our people are not about skin color. Not all skinfolk are kinfolk! Our race is a state of mind, dude. State. Of. Mind. Dr. Martin Luther King, Harriet Tubman, Rosa Parks, Malcom X, I’m down with all dem niggas!”

“You don’t get to use that word, White boy!” I warned.

“No? I reject Whiteness in all its forms! I identify as a Person of Color, Brother Johnson!”

“You don’t get to change genetics by an act of the will, son.”

“But I know this was how I was born,” the kid protested. “Deep down, I’ve always known I’m one of you. I… I can experience the cotton I was forced to pick scratching my hands, feel the cruel lash of the overseer’s whip sting my back…”

“That’s not genetic!”

“But I have fully experienced what it is like to be one of you, one of us!”

“Really?” I cried, feeling rage rise within me. “Look at you. Those sneakers you wear cost hundreds of dollars. The gaming console is near a thousand. This house must be at least a million. You grew up sucking on a silver spoon, kid. You want to know what it’s like to grow up in the Hood? Boy?!”

“There will be no Hood once we’ve overthrown our Bourgeoise oppressors in this fascist American slave state with the glorious Communist Revolution, Comrade!”

“You treasonous, ungrateful little…” I caught myself. I desperately needed this kid on my side a little while longer. “You’re correct comrade. We will overthrow this evil Capitalist system and bring justice to all oppressed peoples. Workers of the world, unite!”

And then together, we cried, “You have nothing to lose but your chains!”

"Hell yeah, my nigga!"

“Stop saying it!”

The college kid raised his arms in surrender saying, “Hey, I get it, man. What do you need from me?”

“Just sit there and let me recharge my drone over the next three hours. You can even go back to playing your video games if you want.”

“I’m cool with that. Just let me call my girlfriend. She’ll be hella impressed by the People’s Hero, Dante Johnson!”

“Um, no, don’t do that,” I told him.

“Nah, it’s all cool man. Steffie won’t rat on us. She’s down with the Revolution.”

“Dude no! Look kid, you tell your girlfriend, but then she might tell someone else, and that person may tell someone else, and before you know it, someone who cares more about earning 2 million dollars than they care about the Revolution will turn us in!”

“Nah she won’t man!’ the boy declared, raising his phone as he tapped on it. “Steffie's cool!”

"Boy, you'd better not call that heifer!”

“Trust me man,” the boy replied, and he lifted the phone to his ear…

I stepped forward and slapped the phone right out of his hand. The boy turned toward me, opening his mouth to say something, but I slipped behind him and raced my right arm around his neck, using my left on his head to force his throat into the crook of my right elbow while applying pressure to both sides of his neck. Rear Naked Choke. The kid struggled like a frenzied bear, but that struggle was brief. He went limp, so I gently laid him out on the floor. My towel had come off in the wrestling, so I was naked again.

“Kevin?” asked a girl’s voice from the phone. According to the screen, her name was Steffie.

Mind and heart racing at somewhere near Mach V – whoa! -- I snatched up the phone, ended the call, and then sent a text:

[Leave me alone, slut. U know wat U did!]

People don’t stay down from sleeper holds like that for long. Not unless you’ve injured, or God forbid, killed them. I raced out through the open glass door to my backpack for duct tape, and by the time I got back, the kid was already stirring and moaning. I quickly duct taped his wrists behind his back, then got his ankles as well.

By the time I was done, I noticed that Steffie had answered.

[Seriously? I kissed Bekka at party 1 time and u still on dis? How many times I have say sorry? Bekka jus friend, ya she gay but I not.]

I was considering another text, but the access protection kicked in and the screen wanted me to put in a PIN. Just as well.

“What the hell, man?” the boy moaned. “Head hurts, I’m gonna throw up…”

“You’ll be fine. If you’re feeling sick, stay on your stomach and turn your face to the side so you don’t choke on your own vomit.”

“How could you do this to me, Brother? I thought you were my homeboy. My nigga!”

“Okay new rule. Every time you say ‘nigga’ I hit you. Hard!”

“Damn Dante, you actin’ mighty White my Brother!’

“I’m not your brother!”

“Dude!” Kevin noted, crooking his neck to look back at the screen. “You’re still on TV!”

Of course, the TV had been running, and quite loudly, ever since Kevin’s mom had turned it up. It’s just that I’d had way too much on my plate to pay attention to what was being said. But now, a woman in smart professional business attire was behind the podium. I gasped in shock – she looked a lot like a female Jess! There were words displayed under her torso: Executive Assistant Director Gretchen M. Wainwright-Hobbes, FBI Criminal, Cyber, Response, and Services Branch.

“…your coworkers, your supervisor, your neighbor and your wife are all cooperating fully with this investigation,” the FBI woman was announcing, “Turn yourself in sir, and I promise you will be treated with respect and justice. The government is ready to make a deal Mr. Johnson, if only you return what you’ve stolen and fully cooperate with the Bureau. We understand how you were deceived, and we only want to help you. Please come home. And now, Mrs. Johnson.”

Matilda approached the podium, face streaked with tears, looking utterly distraught. The displayed words changed to label her as my wife. I gasped again, snatched up the remote, and viciously thumbed off the TV. The screen went black. No way in hell I wanted to see that.

“What…?” I began to my prisoner, only to have my question blown completely out of my mind by the ringing of the doorbell.

Bing-bong!

“Kevin!” called the voice of a young woman from just beyond the front door. “Kevin open this door. You’re being ridiculous!”

“Who the hell is that?” I hissed at Kevin, trying to whisper.

“Yo, dats my girl Steffie,” he answered. “She cool!”

“What?” I choked, “Is she the Flash?”

“She lives right down the street, man!”

“Well, get rid of her!”

Bing-bong!

“Help!” came a muffled cry from the shed in the back yard. “Help me! Help!”

“Quiet Mom!” her son shouted back.

Bing-bong!

“Kevin, what’s going on in there?” Steffie demanded. “I brought Bekka with me so you know we’re not lez or nuthin’!”

“Dammit Kev, is the whole neighborhood coming?” I hissed, increasingly exasperated.

“Help!” called the prisoner in the shed.

“Yo Kev, let us in!” chimed another female voice outside the door. “Me and Steffie aren’t dating, it was just the one kiss, man!”

“I’ll kill you!” I raved, struggling to keep my voice down. “I’ll kill your whole family! Get rid of them!”

“Ah, Steffie, Bekka, everything’s cool!” Kevin assured them. “Ah, I’m… very busy! I’ll be out in another… three hours!”

“Oh, come on!” Steffie whined, “Since when does it take you three hours to crank it?”

“Help!” the shed howled. “Help! Whoever's at the door, call the Police!”

“Kevin, who is that?” Steffie demanded. “What’s she saying?”

Apparently that heavy wooden front door was thicker than I thought.

“Ah, that’s just my mom she… she’s having convulsions!”

“Convulsions?!” I croaked.

“Oh my God!” brayed Steffie. “Convulsions? Seriously? You want me to call an ambulance?”

“No! Ah… an ambulance ride would cost too much in this evil, late stage capitalist, fascist…”

“You forgot White Supremacist,” I whispered.

“…White Supremacist regime that doesn’t have free healthcare like the rest of the civilized world! I’ll just give mom the medicine which, always calms her down and… stops the convulsions and everything’s cool baby!”

“You’re right Kevin, an ambulance ride would be too expensive! I won’t call 911.”

“Oh, thank God,” I muttered under my breath.

“I’ll call Daddy instead. He’ll be right over!”

“Steffie’s father is a paramedic?” I asked.

“Uh… he’s a cop.”

“KHAAAAAAN --!”

“Kevin, who was that?” Bekka demanded. “Who’s that yelling 'con'? Is he a Conservative?"

“Yeah, Kevie,” Steffie added. “Who’s in there with you?”

“Ah, that’s just... he's my boyfriend!” Kevin explained.

“NO, I AM NOT!!” I roared.

“You lying cheater! You’re in there with your boyfriend and you call me gay? I’m glad I hooked up with Bekka!”

There was a loud buzzing from the shed; the sound of some kind of power tool. I looked over there and saw a literal stream of sparks flying from next to the latch…

I leapt to my feet, raced to the laundry room, threw open the dryer door and began stuffing the still tumbling, still damp clothes into the nearest laundry basket. I briefly considered getting dressed to cover my shame, but then realized I had access to the best shame cover of all – invisibility.

So, I go running back into the living room with this full laundry basket in my arms.

“Cut me loose, bro, I can help you!”

Ignoring Kevin, I rushed out to the where the drone was plugged in, tripped over something, fell flat, spilled the clothes. Then spent precious time desperately re-packing the basket. Then I made several mistakes trying to assemble the cold, wet drone about my naked flesh. All the while, the shed whined on, spitting a steady stream of sparks...

“Calm down, Dante!” I demanded, giving myself an order. “Stay cool man, stay cool!”

Now calm-er, I cooly, calmly, assembled the drone about myself in the proper configuration.

Crash! Apparently, the front door wasn’t near as thick as I thought it was. Steffie and Bekka must have been suffering from some sort of hearing loss. Darn kids these days and their loud music. From the back yard, next to the pool, I could look sideways across the house to the uniformed Police Officer standing in the now kicked opened doorway.

I typed in my password, while that cop crossed the house to me with a speed most people reserve for escaping a fire. He reached down to the gun in his belt, and then shoved it in my face. It was like staring down the rifled barrel of a howitzer.

“Dante Johnson!” he thundered. “You’re under arrest for theft and espionage!”

“Espionage is a federal crime,” I protested. “You’re a city cop.”

“Shut up! Turn around and put your hands on your head!”

“Leave my Brother alone you fascist pig!” Kevin yelled, still trussed up on the floor.

Grinning at the officer with a smugness I hope he noted, I declared, “(Eff) da Police! Peace out, homes!” and activated the Cloaking Device.

“I said, turn around!” the cop demanded.

“Um, you don’t see me.”

“Yes I do!”

“But… I’m invisible!”

“No, you are not. Don’t play insanity defense with me, pal. Save that for your lawyer.”

I glanced down at the pool and noticed my reflection. Not good.

Highly annoyed, I tried again, “I said, ‘Peace out, homes!’”, and activated the Cloaking Device. Still had a reflection. A deep existential dread bloomed in the deep pit of my stomach and spread coldly throughout my body until I was, once again, a kid frozen under the pond ice. With mounting desperation, I turned the Cloak off. And on. And off. And on again. Still a reflection.

“You trying to turn that thing on?” the cop growled. “I swear, you take off, and I will plant a round in your knee!”

“You know, I've always supported our brave heroes on the police force,” I told him.

“Didn’t you just say, ‘(Eff) da Police?’”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

“You must have misheard me.”

“I heard you just fine. You clearly said, '(Eff) da Police.'"

"I never!"

"Yes, you did."

"Did not."

"Did too!"

“Look, I donate to my local Police Union every year. The whiny snowflake crybabies and their treasonous allies in the Commie Lib Media have been dumping on our Boys in Blue so much these last few years, and it’s just not fair. You brave men and women of law enforcement are just trying to keep us safe, and because of the Dims, you have to walk around with a target on your back…!”

“Quick kissing my butt and turn around, hands on your head. I’m losing patience!”

“These are not the droids you’re looking for!” I shouted and did the gesture.

The cop seemed genuinely taken aback. He didn’t lower the gun from my nose, but a smile cracked his stony face and brightened his eyes.

“Heh!” he commented. “Good movie. Saw it when I was a kid.”

“Nice. Did you like the others?”

“Eh, the two after that were okay. I thought the prequels were bad, but the sequels; hoo boy! Woke Hollywood ruins everything!”

“I know, right? That ridiculous Mary Sue…”

Just then, the door to the shed flew open. Kevin’s Mom was there, holding onto a roaring power tool, and to this day I couldn’t tell you exactly what it was. I guess it’s what I get for locking the A team in the tool shed.

“You bastard!” she screeched, upset for some reason. “I’ll kill you!”

And she rushed me, holding the buzzing tool over her head with both hands, shrieking like a banshee.

“Stop!” bellowed the officer, “Susan stop!”

He did a little squat and then launched himself into her, bodychecking the woman just before she reached me, and with a fantastic splash, they both went in the pool. I took this as my cue to leave, leaping into the air with the Phantom Drone; praise the Lord it could still fly. I held the basket of damp clothes against my side with one hand and the SF radio with the other, and that made it challenging to manipulate the joysticks. As for the mountaineering backpack full of camping supplies, it had to go the way of all things.

I paused outside practical pistol range and hit up my partner on the SF radio.

“Big Trailer, Big Trailer, this is Forty-Two, over.”

Nothing. Khan.

“Big Trailer, Big Trailer, this is Forty-Two, over!”

Still nothing. So, it was going to be that kind of mission.

“Big Trailer, Big Trailer, please respond!”

Nothing. What a day. I almost despaired entirely when I heard… “Forty-Two, this is Big Trailer. You were interrupting a Class One download, over.”

“Roger that, Big Trailer,” I signed, feeling a huge weight lift from my bare shoulders. “Big Trailer, what is your current grid, over?”

“Forty-Two that would be Romeo Papa One-Three as reported last, over.”

“Roger, Big Trailer. Ten mikes to your location. Hide the kid; I’m afraid I’m not wearing any clothes, over.”

“Forty-Two, you naked, over?”

“Long story, Big. Forty-Two out.”

I tied both the laundry basket and the radio to me with a backup roll of paracord that was in one of the pockets of my arctic parka. I used the parka as a lid, tying it in place to keep the rest of the clothes from flying out of the basket. Then I flew high to keep from being seen. I was only up there ten minutes, but by the time I reached Rally Point 13, I was utterly miserable from the cold, and could not feel my hands or feet.

RP 13 was under the concrete bleachers of a high school football stadium. I turned the Cloak on for my final descent, in the hopes that it was finally working, though I had no way to be sure.

Working the controls with frozen fingers was difficult but I managed. However, I fell immediately off my dead feet after landing in the shadow of the bleachers.

When Leticia and Melody found me about 10 minutes later, I was in bad shape, violently shivering on the hard concrete like I was in Antarctica. She was carrying a blanket, and after she got the drone components off me, she wrapped me up in that blanket. Just so you know, Melody was wearing a beanie pulled down over her eyes while her mother led the little girl by the hand. Once I was wrapped up in the blanket, Leticia pulled the beanie off.

“Hi Daddy!” the girl sang upon seeing me.

“Oh Dante!” Letica cried, “Brother, are you okay?”

“Been better,” I admitted. “It is a fine summer day, so I should get better soon enough. In the meantime, I’m going to put my hands on my abdomen under this blanket, if you would please put my feet on your belly.”

She sat down on the dirty concrete, lifted her tee shirt, and shoved both my feet up there on her stomach.

“Holy…!” she gasped. “Your feet are ice cold!”

“Yeah, I can’t even feel ‘em. Do you think you were followed?”

“I doubt it. But I took lots of turns just to make sure. I doubled back on my route twice; never saw the same vehicle behind me.”

“Good news. Odds are, they’re still waiting for me at that recharge station. Which reminds me – let’s not use those anymore.”

“Well! That’s going to make it a bit more challenging to find recharge for the Phantom Drone, but I’ll manage. We can use churches?”

“Look for houses for sale,” I told her, shaking my head. “If someone finds you poking around, you can say you’re in the market for a house.”

“Brilliant!” Leticia cried, “Because I am in a market for a house. There’s only so much of my mother I can take. I left home for a reason.”

“Mommy got a new car!” Melody shouted. “It’s big and it’s blue, and it’s prettier than Jess’ truck!”

“You bought a new car?” I asked feeling an involuntary eyebrow raise.

“Not exactly,” Leticia replied, chuckling. “Remember that auto paint shop I told you about?”

“You told me about two such shops in this city.”

“Yeah, well this one is within a block of this very school. And get this, the owner is a certain Juan Gonzales, and there wasn’t nuthin’ but Mexicans up in that piece! Didn’t one person speak English unless they were talking to me. Now I don’t want to sound racist, but I figured a place like that would have… let’s say, undocumented employees?”

“That’s racist,” I quipped.

“Whatever. I went in to get the truck repainted, but when I saw all the Mexicans, I told the owner that I was using my truck to smuggle refugees.”

A beat.

“You know, for such a good Christian girl, you sure do lie a lot.”

“What lie?” Leticia retorted. “You were forced from your home, were you not? And so was Melody. That’s two refugees right there, and I am smuggling you both.”

“If you say so,” I sighed. “Proceed.”

“Get this, Dante. The guy offers to trade me a minivan for Jess’ truck. He’d said I’d be able to sneak more immigrants in it. I didn’t think I could trade the truck because I don’t really own it, but that guy had all the documents, I’ll give him that. We made the trade, and I spotted one of them literally take the license plate off the green pickup and replace it with another one, like nothing! So now I am the proud owner of a blue minivan! It’s not in the best shape, but it’s not Jess’ green pickup, and that’s what your girl Leticia’s been up to!”

I could see she was quite satisfied with herself.

“Quick, flexible thinking,” I pronounced. “As water shapes itself to the terrain, you have shaped yourself to the conditions. Well done, thou good and faithful servant,”

But she scowled, saying, “All you had to say was ‘good job, Leticia.’ You don’t have to be blasphemous.”

By now I started to feel my previously numb hands and feet, and they felt very bad.

“You’ll have to stop by the nearest thrift shop,” I grunted, gritting my teeth against the pain. “All my clothes are wet, and I need something to wear while they dry out.”

“Why? We still got plenty of cash. Heck, we got mall money.”

“We’ll have to be more careful,” I warned. “It won’t be long before you’re a known accomplice, and then even you won’t be able to show your face in public. And for the record, great job on getting a different vehicle, but your disguise is stupid. In it, I’m a huge, not-White guy wearing a long, blonde wig and a ridiculous, floppy hat. I look so outrageous, I command attention, which is not want you want out of a disguise!”

“Well excuse me!” Leticia quipped, still smiling. “Though, as long as we’re being honest, I need to ask you something.”

“Seek and ye shall find. Knock and the door will be opened.”

“Stop it!”

“Yeah, stop it!” chimed the little girl.

“Dante, why did you take the Phantom Drone?”

It seemed such an odd question at this stage of the game. It made me sit up, which is not such an easy thing to do when you’re all wrapped up like a mummy.

“What did you say?”

“The Drone, Dante. Why did you take it?”

“My boss is trying to steal credit for it,” I claimed. “So, I’m delivering it to the company founder and owner in Seattle personally, so he knows he has me to thank for this breakthrough invisibility technology. Me and Molly Maguire.”

“Yeah, see that’s a problem,” Leticia sighed, and she sat back, while still holding my tingling feet against her warm belly. “You’ve just described a situation that could be handled with a phone call. Or a text. Surely your Chief Engineer has notes and blueprints she can scan to your CEO or whatever and then explain how she was the one who made the breakthrough. That woman is still completely smitten by you, by the way, so she will make sure you get at least some of the credit.”

“Leticia…”

“Also, what do you think will happen when you reach your company's headquarters in Seattle? Are they going to simply let you just waltz on in there and see the Big Guy? Won’t the guards at the gate turn you in for 2 million bucks?”

“But… you see…”

“It doesn’t make a lick of sense for you to risk lifelong imprisonment or death just to get credit for this thing. Unless getting credit is not the real reason you took it. So, what’s really going on here, Dante?”

“Yeah Daddy, you can’t fool Mommy, she’s too smart!”

“Leticia,” I begged, struggling against the raging fire now consuming my hands and feet, “Baby, you have to trust me.”

“Just tell me the truth, Dante. Tell me something that makes sense. At this point, I don’t even care what it is. Just don’t lie to me. Please.”