*1:12 pm and following – Shady Acres Hotel, Suspect vehicle # 2 located, securing evidence, and update from the Sheriff. Add to Bonnie's fixit list: Replace grappling hook, cable, two front internal bumper brace cushions and one ramjet thrust sensor. Personal note: Have a bag of ice for Michael's new bruise when Bonnie finds out what we did.*
The hotel clerk looked up at the sound of a car pulling in. "Got to be that hotshot. Only he stirs up that much dust." Taking a deep breath, he stepped outside, nodding at the tall guy driving the black Pontiac Trans Am. "You can't park here," he gestured over to the heavy equipment parked all over the lot. Graders, shovel scoops, and a backhoe were staged in every available spot. "County is parking here to repair pipe work up town. You will have to use the field down the road, about two miles, for next few days. Everyone uses it. Just no 'for sale' signs allowed on the vehicles. It's for parking, not selling hot cars."
"Not interested in selling. Upgrading maybe." Michael commented with a smirk.
"I heard that," Kitt typed out on the monitor within the dash. The driver side window rolled up, cutting off further conversation. Kitt reversed the car, backing out to the main road then forward. Two miles further, a hand painted sign pointed right. They pulled into the lot, slowing to look at the vehicles.
"Looks like pickups and big rigs. Think you can handle being the only car?" Michael asked.
"Better than you handled the locals." Kitt teased.
"Very funny. Scan the license plates and compare vehicle makes to that wanted list."
"Confirmation. The truck, if you can call it that, left side, back space. The 1950's flatbed." The side boards were old fencing posts, rotted and half falling apart. A bit of barbed wire still wrapped around one, attached with a bent, rusty nail. Dinged, dirty fifty gallon barrels filled the back. "It's registered to green environmental services dot org. No address or name. Po Box only. "
Michael opened his door slowly, waiting to see if it would stay open. "I'm going to check it out. May be the break we need."
"Everything is breaking on that vehicle. Be careful." Every sensor and computation focused outward as the distance between them increased. "It's leaking oil. Not in par with environmental clean-up." Kitt stated while pulling data packets. "Records indicate no tickets, wants or warrants. Running physical analysis now. There are twelve barrels of used cooking oil, three empty barrels and the front four barrels are welded together, holding a metal box."
"Scan inside the box."
"Impossible. Its lead lined, standard military issue. Infrared red shows no detectable heat signature. Spectrum analysis indicates faint traces of explosives. C4 to be exact."
"Any chance I could get to that box for a closer look?"
"Negative. The barrels are strapped tightly together. You would have to remove the back row then slide the rest around to reach that container."
"Then we borrow the truck," Michael said.
"Borrow? I believe the correct term is steal. How exactly? I will not risk my alpha circuit again by towing a vehicle, especially a falling apart rusted behemoth like that. The strain on my internal compensators stresses the main line which damages my alpha circuit. I will not risk losing a third of internal computing power to be a tow truck. I did it once for you. Not again unless there is dire need. "
"I'll drive it." Michael responded with a slight shrug.
"No."
"Yes, I can and I will Kitt."
"I cannot protect you in that."
"I got out of worse when I was in the military, before I met you or Wilton Knight, remember?"
"And the steel plate in your head was bought at a souvenir shop I presume?" he retorted.
"That's low even for you."
"Low is six feet in the ground. And the last place either of us need to be. C4 is dangerous. Call the sheriff and let her impound it. Any evidence can then be used in court. "
"How much explosive handling do you think the locals here have?" Michael asked.
"A lot more than you if the sheriff finds you are stealing anything in her jurisdiction."
"What is your problem Kitt?" Michael turned, gesturing angrily.
"What is yours? You seem incapable of dealing with any female lately." There was dead silence on both of their parts.
Michael turned away, clenching his fists. He sighed, making a decision. "Bonnie is dating someone. It's serious." He admitted.
"Define serious."
"As in she spends her time between us and him. His stuff was in her room. Devon asked me to drop off her mail there. There were photos, trip mementos. The type of stuff that she use to have of us.
"Will she leave again?" Kitt asked sincerely.
I don't know…" A pickup then pulled in, halting Michael's words as it went out and around them, and the driver waved a friendly greeting before disappearing around a row of parked farm equipment. When he felt no immediate threat from the vehicle, he continued where he had let off, "I wanted to tell her…to explain that… but she's never there."
"Bonnie is coming." Kitt finally said. "I signalled for the FLAG repair semi last night. The echo confirmed arrival tomorrow morning. "
"What did she say?"
"Automated response only. But you can talk to her then. And hopefully update Devon with our progress. While the truck awaits."
Michael smiled, "Thanks buddy." He turned back to the flatbed, reaching for the door handle then stopped. He pulled, pushing the stiff button in. "It's locked."
"More like rusted. X-ray detects no lock mechanism and the presence of several abandoned mouse nests. Just pull, Michael."
"I am," he grunted, arms straining, metal scraping on metal and then suddenly it was free. He stumbled backwards, trying to regain footing. "Amazing, it didn't fall off." Climbing up and in, he sat on the seat gingerly, wiping his hands from the buildup of dust. It sunk and was lumpy but held. "Who drove this last?'" He slid the seat forward until his six foot plus height could reach the pedals. "Odd. Smells like old grease and onions."
"You should feel right at home. Need me to jump start it?"
"No, keys are in the ignition."
"Keys have nothing to do with a dead battery, Michael. The owner was probably hoping someone would take it no doubt." He said nothing as the engine sputtered to life. Then it died. It sputtered again then died. It sputtered, blowing a puff of black smoke out the tailpipe. Creaking, the engine shifted into gear and died again. Kitt watched Michael pound on the steering wheel, pumping the gas, trying again and again to get it started and moving. It revved, the noise almost deafening. Shaking, it moved forward slowly towards the exit and onto the road. "How humiliating."
Rolling down the road, Michael ground his teeth, wishing he had ear plugs. The truck shook as he forced the shifter into the next gear. Glancing in the mirror, he saw Kitt following faithfully. "What's up ahead?" he yelled into the comm unit.
"Two miles of curvy downhill road. Shift into lower gear, braking slowly. The county line is four miles beyond that. I'm sure you have a plan."
"I always have a plan." Michael said. The gear shifter screeched as he dropped it into second. A downgrade warning sign flashed by on the side of the road. "Time to slow down." The brake pedal pressed lower, lower then flat, touching the floor. The truck continued to gain speed. Michael pumped the pedal to the floor rapidly. "Kitt! The brakes aren't working! Use the micro lock!"
"Already engaged!" Kitt raised the volume through his external speakers. He had monitored everything on and around the truck and detected the exact moment when the speed began to reach critical. "The signal triggers anti lock brakes and electronic systems. That rust bucket has manual disc brakes. There is nothing to trigger beyond a cable and the pedal. My systems are too advanced."
"What do you mean too advanced, Kitt? Great!" His hands tightened on the steering wheel, forcing the truck to stay on the road. "Can't you use something else? Or get close enough for me to jump?"
Kitt accelerated, paralleling the truck. He opened his passenger side sun roof, and waited.
Michael grabbed the door handle, twisting it, and then with a snap, the rusty piece broke off in his hand. He stared at it in disbelief before tossing it to the right. He punched the window glass, bouncing off it. "Plastic?" It was glued in place with dark goop all around it. "I need help here!"
Kitt slammed on his brakes, falling in behind the truck as it slid around the next curve. A small panel opened under his front bumper. The guidance system focused on the truck ahead. The grappling hook shot out, and with a clank, hooked the top of the bumper and Kitt began reeling it back. His tires spun, peeling parts of the pavement up. Kevlar and admantium, they were made to withstand bullets and insure smooth handling at high speeds. No programmer had ever designed them to stop any mass greater than his own. Sliding, he gunned his turbines, struggling to stay in control. The rope grew taunt and sensors detected the stress warping the metal. "Oh dear," Kitt said, anticipating the outcome. With a shearing sound, the bumper broke free of the truck, bouncing on the pavement and headed straight towards the car.
Clink!
Clank!
Clang!
The bumper bounced on the pavement as Kitt swerved to the left, releasing the grappling cable. The car watched it bounce to the side of the road and slide down the embankment out of view. The truck slid around the corner, heading onto a straightaway.
A million options went through Kitt's processors in the matter of milliseconds as he tried to figure out the best course of action. 'Microwave Jammer? Electromagnetic Field Disruptor? Ineffective. They would disrupt the engine but not stop him. X-ray? Need that after the crash. Thermo Dynamic Generator? Blowing the tires equals no traction. Laser? Missile? Only to hide the evidence we were here. EMP? Kill the engine with no slowing and no power steering.' An entire list of abilities scrolled past. Oil slick, phone tap, radar, ski mode, smoke release, surveillance lock, ultra scan, voice analyzer, until it reached the very first entry ever added by the design team to his capabilities list. Turbo boost.
His scanner flared, tracking rapidly side to side as he slowed, letting the truck pull ahead. "Turbo engaged." Kitt soared overhead, then landed with a double bump and accelerated further down the road. Doing a 180 degree spin, he faced forward, reading every detail in under a second. "My front bumper is reinforced to handle punching through walls. It will handle the impact of the truck." Shifting into reverse, he accelerated rapidly, keeping ahead of the oncoming vehicle.
"Michael, I have to get you below fifty miles per hour or the truck will slide sideways and tip." Driving in reverse, he monitored in all directions, grateful no other traffic was nearby."Engaging retro rockets at quarter power, now." The bumper slammed against his armor shell, sparking. Kitt skated backwards, unable to gain traction. "Half power," he chimed. A ramjet thruster sensor failed. Another registered imminent failure. Their speed dropped below forty slowly. Realizing it still wasn't enough, he then engaged three quarter power. A mile later, they both slowed to a stop, the truck wedged tight against the car.
Michael breathed out, his heart hammering in his chest. He sheepishly removed his foot from the brake pedal, unclamping both hands from the steering wheel. "Well, we are past the county line." Kitt answered nothing, running internal diagnostics.
A lone figure approached on the right, tilting his head at the sight on the road at the end of his driveway. Clad in coveralls, boots and hold a pitchfork, he chewed side to side then gestured to Michael to hop out the passenger side.
"Next time," the farmer spat out his tobacco as he smirked. "Pull the car boy. Don't push like a darn mule. "
"I'll try that. Thanks." Michael panted, grateful to be on solid ground. A quick glance showed no apparent damage to Kitt. He watched the farmer, unsure how to explain what had happened to bring them all there.
"Might as well park that here. Bessie and the girls won't mind."
"Girls?" Michael repeated.
The farmer pointed over at the cows beyond the far fence. "Don't upset them. Scared cows don't give milk. Lucky for you the ditch ends up there. Push that a few feet into yon field, watch where you step." He said as Michael slid sideways on a cow patty. "You got until the end of the week to move it. Going to see my daughter next state over until then. Farm hand feeds the girls every morning, he won't bother ya none." He waved, walking back towards the farm house.
"Devon is requesting an update." Kitt said. "What should I tell him?"
"Send the logs up to this morning and nothing more. Let him know we are tracking down evidence, buddy."
"Tracking is right. This field is muck! Surely you are not going to walk through that and get back inside me?"
"You got a better idea?" He asked, wiping his boot on the nearby fence.
Kitt rolled forward, angling towards him. "Balance on my hood, then get in," the car paused. "I will push that gargantuan into the field. But you owe me Michael."
'It's worth it," he answered, struggling to balance on the smooth armor of the car. With a push, he hopped the door, flopping on the driver seat. "Are you up to it?"
"Now you ask me? Wait, another call inbound, from Sheriff Langley." Kitt announced.
"The sheriff?" Michael asked as he began picking the hay out of his hair. "Put it through and hide any background noise. " The windows rolled up, as Kitt turned his engine off.
"Mr. Knight, quick call. I'm driving back from the pipe assembly. Got a question to ask." The Sherriff's voice came over Kitt's Audio.
"I've got an answer," Michael said, as sweat rolled down his cheek. He brushed it away. Kitt readily read Michael's body temperature and determined he was either hot or nervous. He turned the air conditioning on, maximizing the cooling while keeping the fan down low for noise.
"You free in about an hour? Records came back from the county clerk. Frank forgot to add a motion and order to file them. They're here if you want to look."
"I have to check my schedule a minute," he pantomimed a cutting motion.
"Silenced. May I suggest you return to the hotel room, get clean, and eat something. Then go to the sheriff's office. We can return here after dark to examine the barrels." Kitt rotated the rear view mirror to show his partner how rumpled and sweaty he actually looked.
He only shook his head, "Yeah, alright buddy. You never know. She might be attracted to me this way."
"I think not. Reengaging the micro call line."
"Two hours will be fine sheriff. See you then." Michael told her.
"See my officer. I got work to do. Hope you find whatever you are looking for and leave. Otherwise I might surprise you. Goodbye." She broke the connection.
"I don't like surprises Michael." Kitt said.
"I don't either. Let's get this moved."
Author's Note: Thanks to my beta readers! Liomaskb, and my KR fan and editor starseeded. Need all the help you can give me. And yes, I've been watching the original series on DVD to learn Kitt's stuff and how they both talk and joke back and forth. Comments and suggestions welcome.
