Chapter 8. Things get serious.

To say Bob Whelan was not a happy camper was to suggest that Earth and Proximi Centauri 3 were separated by a few miles. The freighter captain sat in the chair farthest from Eddie Bohannon’s desk, folded his arms across his chest and scowled so hard he gave himself a headache. Of course, the throbbing pain in his temples didn’t improve his mood one bit.

“OK, we have Hamilton’s apartment staked out in case he returns there, and you people can follow along as while we check out Mr. Wong’s story,” the detective-sergeant was saying. “Now, Hetznecker, you’re sure you saw Jeff Hamilton leaving Snooky’s yesterday morning?”

“There’s two things I don’t forget,” Baxter smiled. “Faces —”

“— and figgers, I know, you told me. Well, he and this imaginary lovenest are our only clues at the moment. I should tell you the Creative Leisure human resources department has no record of a Jeff Hamilton among their personnel.”

“How many hit men get listed in company records?” Whelan snapped.

“How many hit men get listed in the phone book?” Bohannon snapped back, then smiled, almost sweetly. “Good to have you back with us, Bob.”

“It’s good to be had,” he said, not returning the smile.

“I was going to add you to the suspect list after you skipped out,” the detective-sergeant said.

“Listen, lady, you work for the government so you don’t know about making an honest living, but a cargo ship that ain’t flying tends to put the captain out of business,” Bob said with a surly snarl. “But speaking of the government, we 'skipped out’ because the damn government hijacked my ship. Otherwise I would’ve been right here to help when we were needed, so back off.”

“Could you two stop flirting with each other, and let’s get on with finding the bad guys?” Snooky broke in, snarling herself.

Bohannon and Whelan shifted uncomfortably in their chairs, while Baxter nudged Pete with a knowing glance, as if to say, “Flirting, see? I told ya.” But he said nothing, because Snooky was still talking. “I been knocked around twice and the front of my place is blown up. It gets a little irritating, you know?”

Pete instinctively put his hand on hers. “They’re working on it, Snook. You gotta give 'em time.”

“Time,” she spat out. “A little more time and I won’t have nothin’ left. Maybe I should’ve just taken the damn money.”

“Extortion is still against the law. You don’t have to put up with it,” Bohannon told her, using the most gentle tone they’d heard from her yet. “Don’t worry, we’re going to nail these guys, whoever they are.”

Pete gave a doubletake. “What do you mean, 'whoever they are’? You still don’t believe it’s this Hamilton guy?”

Bohannon sighed. “Look, let’s be friends, OK? It’s my job not to come to conclusions. I haven’t talked to Creative Leisure to get their side yet, haven’t even met Jeff Hamilton, so I’m not jumping to the conclusion that Hamilton’s working for C.L. just on your say so. Of course I believe you, I just don’t know that I believe in Hamilton yet.”

That settled things down a mite, and everyone stood to head over to the place where Pete met the imaginary ladies.

Detective-Sgt. Eddie Bohannon placed herself in front of Bob Whelan as she adjusted her fedora with the slightest hint of a grin. “You gonna give me any more trouble?”

His eyes flashed. “More than you can handle.”

“I don’t know,” she said casually, turning away, “I’ve handled tougher than you.”

Baxter Hetznecker nearly yanked Pete Wong’s arm out of its socket as he rushed him into the hallway. “Did ya hear that? I told ya so!”

Pete rolled his eyes. “Dream on, Baxter. How are you doing, Snooky?” he said, taking her arm.

“I’m doing fine, I just want this over with,” she said. “What were you guys just talking about?”

“Nothing,” Pete said firmly. “Nothing at all.”

It took just a few minutes to reach the Super-Quik PC-3 Stop. The place offered a wide supply of knickknacks, fast food, household supplies and replacement parts for ImagDrive computers, and the bored teenage girl behind the counter bore no resemblance at all to the two imaginary women — or was it one? — whom Pete had talked business with.

“I take it this didn’t look like a convenience store yesterday,” Eddie Bohannon said wryly.

Needless to say, Pete Wong was a little dazed and confused. He looked at the businesses on either side of the Super-Quick PC-3 Stop. Yes, those were the ones he had seen, but in between had been an unmarked door, not a convenience store.

“I don’t understand it,” Pete said. “This place must be generated by an ImagDevice, too.”

“If I didn’t get coffee and pipe tobacco here all the time, I might buy that idea,” Bohannon said. “Hey, how long has this place been open?”

“Gee, I don’t know,” the teen said sullenly. “Bout a year ago, I think?”

“Thought so. You’re sure this is the location?” she asked Pete.

“Of course I’m sure. I made sure to notice this law firm on the one side and the travel kiosk on the other.”

“Fine, let’s see if we can find someone at these places.”

To make a short story even shorter, neither the staff of Tom’s Tickets to Pleasant Planets nor anyone at MacKenzie, Kosygin, Smythe, Sibilsky & VandenWymelenberg had seen or heard anything unusual during the course of business the last day or so, and certainly no one noticed it being replaced by a plain door. Farnsworth Smythe allowed that he really didn’t think it was a proper location for a convenience store, but that really wasn’t the issue anyway. They even asked the teenager for a look at the storeroom, but the little room behind the convenience store didn’t resemble the little room where Pete had been held.

“They did show me some pretty advanced imaginary technology tricks,” Pete offered. “Maybe they have a way to mess up my sense of direction, and I wasn’t here at all, or they can make it look one way to me and another to everyone else.”

The detective-sergeant was extremely skeptical. “That would take some mighty advanced technology,” she agreed. “I don’t know.”

Bob Whelan had been quiet for so long, everyone jumped a little when he barked, “Who owns this place?”

The clerk blinked and thought for a second. “Melvin Reynolds owns the business, but he rents the store from Creative Leisure. C.L. owns this whole row of businesses.”

If Eddie Bohannon had been smoking just then, her pipe would have clattered to the floor. As it was, she had to clamp her jaw back into place under the heat of Bob Whelan’s smug smile.

“I guess it’s time I had a chat with the folks at Creative Leisure,” she said, simply but firmly.

Next: Chapter 9. The walls of Jericho.