24. Bugged

We're having breakfast at the dive across the street from the Cucaracha Hilton, when my purse has a fit. Actually, this is the second or third fit it's had this morning, but I was only peripherally aware of the other ones, having better things to do than answer the phone. This time, though, my bag is squirming on the table and something rattles against multiple guns.

"That's some cockroach," says George, deadpan.

"I only wish," I sigh, fishing through the weaponry. "That's my phone set to vibrate...Yeah, yeah, I'm here," I grumble into it.

"You need to get back," says RC without preamble. "It looks like the PSCS got shorted out while Sands was pulling your ass off that table last night."

Italian sign language obviously translates into Spanish; my partner snickers across the table from me. "As soon as I'm through with breakfast," I say calmly.

"The sooner the better."

"Listen, I've had a total of two meals in three days. I'm finishing my fucking breakfast, then we'll hit the road." And I hang up. Have I grown a pair, or what?

"You do like to live dangerously," George remarks. "Is it always like that? Last night -"

I'd forgotten about my challenge to RC after everything else that went on...I'm liable to wind up having my head handed to me on a plate. "No, this is the first time we've been out on a job together. Usually I'm in the workshop doing tech stuff, or I get an assignment and I'm free to carry it out as I see fit. I'm used to being in charge when I'm in the field, not taking orders and playing second banana."

"You're very capable," says George. "I was not worried with you at my back."

There's a lump in my throat. I think this is the highest compliment I've ever been paid. "Last night...was like dancing. When you're in step together..." I stop, blushing at such a girly metaphor.

"I would like to dance with you, someday," he answers with a smile, and we look at one another, wordless, until our huevos are muy frio and we send them back to the kitchen. Let RC and Sands wait. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.

I'm torn between making the time alone with him last and wanting to let the Shelby off the chain in broad daylight. I compromise, driving sanely through the twistier bits and cutting loose where the visibility is good. Have I mentioned what a fantastic car this is? The clutch is a monster and it takes some torque to shift - that bitch is not gonna pop out of gear by accident. The racing suspension is taut, but the steering is amazingly responsive. There's ample room to stash it in the bay; no way in hell am I going to abandon it. That reminds me, we ought to fetch the Batmobile...I drop George off at the Studie with the keys and continue on to the warehouse.

"Horseshit!" RC is roaring into a cell phone as I enter the workroom. "You lazy bastard, I want your ass down here pronto Tonto! What? Since when?" Oh, boy. What a day I picked to have a hissy. I quietly go about getting the primary unit from Sands. Diagnostics show a loose connection, easily fixed, but something else is wrong: I'm getting more signals than I thought I put in the damn thing. Screwy. When RC hangs up the phone, my guts clench up. Now I'm in for it.

"It seems our friend Lee is placing fear of FAA regulations above fear of yours truly. He says he needs downtime before he can come get us. Looks like we're stuck here until tomorrow." I nod to show I've heard, studiously not looking up from the chip I'm testing. At the sound of the outside door rolling up, my employer exits to the bay, and I relax. Yesterday's fun and games with electroshock has taken its toll. I'm sore all over and still tired, despite a solid six hours of sleep last night.

"Did you really tell RC to fuck off?" Sands asks me gleefully once the door closes. "That's ballsy. Shows a real death wish, but it's ballsy."

"Thanks, Sands, but I hate to disappoint you. All I said was, 'I'm going to finish my fucking breakfast'."

"Hey, that still takes guts. And last night, damn! 'Unless you want a piece?' That was insane!" He chuckles softly. "I wouldn't want to be you."

Yeah, he would, or he wouldn't be so pleased about it. He's hoping for carnage. My purse is on the work-table. Finding the locator, I turn it on to watch him react. Which would be fun, if he was wearing the PSCS at the moment. Duh, I'm more tired than I realized. I pick up the primary unit and put it on. The noise that jumps out at me is overwhelming, worse than I remember. First, I turn off the detector. That cuts significant feedback - it really does sound like nails on a chalkboard - but I remember assembling the unit, and it did not sound like this. Note to self, don't use detector unless it's necessary, I wouldn't blame Sands for shooting me with that shrieking in his ears.

"Do you still have those gloves?" I ask him. Discovering that I'm getting a signal from the gloves and eliminating that reduces more of it - how the hell does Sands cope with all this sound? Somehow, he's processing all this junk and using it to navigate. That's what it was created for, but not on this many channels.

The door to the bay opens again, and George strolls in and lays my keys on the worktable as I check the gloves again. Suddenly, the feedback sharpens into two different ringing tones, in addition to the thrum of his approach. What the hell is causing that? I'm positive it's not the damned gloves. At first I think it's some weird ghost from the locator, but taking out the battery and disabling it has no effect. Something dawns on me. A minute later, the PSCS goes crazy.

Holding my Mexican souvenir/Christmas present, I realize how Sands has been I.D.'ing me blind. I've been bugged.

Mojave Dragonfly: You know that, and I know that, but Kate still has her head in the sand and doesn't know what to think.

Dawnie-7: And if you've ever seen a South American flying cockroach, you'll know Kate wasn't exaggerating...much. They've happily emigrated here to Florida, and no lie, their bodies are nearly two inches long and their antennae are as long or longer...and yes, they WILL fly at you.

Kudos to elaneon, who already figured out the business with the keychain. Lojacked indeed!