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Chapter 3
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On occasion, airline trips could be unbearable or frustrating and even uncomfortable to seasoned travelers like Agents Bering and Lattimer and this particular flight did indeed wear their patience thin. They met up with too many officious individuals who looked at their IDs and gave them grief anyway, if only to heap indignities on them for the sheer joy of doing so.
The flight was beyond packed, elbows and knees jutting everywhere one looked, kids crying, or worse, screaming, and the high heat at ground level produced thermals that jogged the plane violently a few times. As luck would have it--though Pete ended up convinced Luck had nothing to do with it--he wound up sitting behind a four year old with a staring problem. Every time he looked up, the kid was standing in the seat and looking back at him with eerily unblinking eyes.
Fortunately for Myka, she didn't bear the brunt of this attention and was content to just lean back and try to catch a quick nap. However, the more the kid glared at Pete, the more inclined he was to talk to her just so he could peel his eyes away from what was in front of him.
"Weird!! Is-thay id-kay is eird-way!" Pete muttered to Myka, only varying the complaints slightly over the course of the next hour.
"Ough-tay uk-lay," she sang to him at one point which only increased his overall frustration levels.
He tried turning 'evil eyes' on the kid but it didn't work. All he got was the same look thrown back in his face. He switched to insulting the kid directly in pig latin but only under his breath so the parents wouldn't hear. The boy only stared harder until Pete's eyes were beginning to tear and his brain felt like it would melt and run out his ears. He eventually switched over to "Wanna switch seats?" and variations thereof when he finally realized Myka was tuning him out.
Then, to add insult to injury, some guy dropped his carry on bag, which had been stowed in the overhead compartment, right on Pete's head as he was trying to exit the plane.
Once at the Coeburn terminal, their luggage, what little of it there was, ended up misplaced and took forever to show up so both Pete and Myka sat and stared at other patrons moving about the terminals on their own adventures. They tucked their carry-ons between their legs and shared a sandwich purchased at one of the shops while waiting on the slower-than-molasses staff to locate their belongings and call for them to pick it up.
"Finally!" Pete hollered with glee and bolted back to the baggage chute and conveyor belt to locate their stuff. "I'm am so done with this place. In fact, I'm seriously thinking of renting a car and driving back!"
Myka shrugged, clearly not as distressed by all this as her partner was. "Whatever you want to do," she said mildly, scooping up the strap to her own luggage and deftly swinging the small item so it ended up dangling by her side. She glanced at her watch. "Hotel first, police second?"
"Sounds fine with me, just as long as we get out of here quickly!" He bolted for the car rental counter, whizzed through the process of procuring a car in record time, nearly broke the guys fingers as he snatched the keys out of the startled man's hands, and darted outside to the lot.
Locating the car turned into an ordeal to rival that at the airport. The keyless remote didn't make their vehicle beep. They tried to spot the car by the number on the key ring but all the numbers were apparently on the rear bumper and all vehicles had been backed in. Squeezing between cars got Pete's slacks dusty looking about the knees and it took better than ten minutes to find the matching number to that on the key ring. The remote still didn't work to pop the locks.
"I swear, the trickster gods are out to get us today," he growled, partly in anger and partly in hopes those self same gods would tremble and run in fear. He slammed the key into the locks and was rewarded with a click. That was also the only sound he heard when he jammed the key into the ignition.
Several foul words were already bubbling up before that moment. And they erupted fast and furious when the second attempt to start the vehicle failed.
"Pete? Pete!!" Myka hollered, grabbing him by the shoulder to give him a rough shake. "Look, just sit here for moment. Relax, cool down. Give me the keys and I'll go back and get another car. Okay?" She sounded so calm, so reasonable, that for once, he was more than willing to dump all the responsibility on her.
She wasn't long in returning. Playfully, she jangled the keys before his face, and pointed back in the direction she came from. They transferred the gear, including the ever-present sealed container of neutralizer that had served as her carry-on, and she slid into the driver's seat.
Finding the hotel wasn't a problem--for which he was eternally grateful. But then he opened the door to the room and groaned. Artie had made these arrangements, apparently without checking the reviews. The place had an odd smell, there was a large dark stain beneath the air conditioner, which didn't work well, and the remote didn't work at all. Again. Only this time it was because someone had apparently stolen the batteries.
Myka's room was only slightly better. At least the remote worked. She was already sorting out her meager possessions and layering them neatly in the top drawer. Pete watched for a second and shrugged. He was a live-out-of-the-suitcase kind of guy and never bothered with motel furniture if he could help it.
The TV had just been turned on in Myka's room when there was a rattling buzz from somewhere inside her oversized purse. She quickly reached in and snagged the Farnsworth, opening it with obviously practiced ease. Artie's gray-tone image appeared in the circle, appearing somewhat distorted as if viewed through a fish-eye lens. He also looked slightly irritated.
"A bit late in checking in, aren't we?" he asked placidly, though his expression was looking anything but.
"A bit more worried than we should be, aren't we?" Pete chimed in, looking over Myka's shoulder so that their boss could see him.
Artie snorted derisively at that accusation. "Have you bothered to turn on the TV? Listen to the radio? I was getting worried that something had happened to you."
"We just turned it on. And in case you're wondering, we just got into the rooms a little while ago. And while it's the subject of discussion, I mean, really…coach travel, Rent-a-Hoopdie, and rooms at the Crapola Inn? Cheap much?"
Artie's bushy brows almost kissed. "Government cut-backs. You got a problem with it, take it up with Mrs. Frederick."
Pushing Pete aside, Myka wormed her way closer to the viewscreen until she knew her face was probably distorted on the other end. Her large green eyes grew harder as she tried to focus on what wasn't being said yet. "Artie! Why would you think something happened to us?"
"You weren't where you were supposed to be when you were supposed to be there," was the simple reply.
"That's nothing new," she explained reasonably. "Besides, you've never been one to watch the clock before."
This time, Artie was the one to sit back a bit. He sighed forcefully enough for them to hear it as a tinny gust of wind through the small Farnsworth speaker. "With MacPherson hiding who knows where, any time you are out there and out of contact is of…concern to me. But that's not exactly the problem." He leaned back farther in his chair and it became obvious to the pair that he was looking at his monitor. "In the hours since you left, two more bodies were reported to the authorities and several animal attack cases showed up at the area hospitals. Some of the latter could be ruled out as normal dog and cat bites, but witnesses and survivors have reported sightings of less commonplace animals."
"How 'less'?" Pete inquired, running his fingers through his hair, giving him a rumpled just-waking-up appearance.
"One lady swears she saw a bobcat. Another…" he paused as if it actually hurt him to say it, "a big horn ram". Plus…and I hate to even say it…a tiger."
"No way!" Pete breathed out in surprise.
"More zoo escapees?" inquired Myka leaning a bit further back from the screen. "I hate artifacts involving zoo animals, Artie. You know that!"
"Is that going to change how I hand out assignments?" Artie asked. He smiled slightly at the memory at what he thought of as 'Myka's mishap with the monkey'. She hadn't been happy then and clearly she wasn't happy now.
"Oh course not!" she snapped back, irritated with herself for letting on that the previous assignment still bothered her. She changed tracks abruptly. "So you think these animals are being freed from the zoos."
"Not necessarily. The tiger may have been someone's pet for all we know. But it bears looking into when you have the time. If zoo administrators thought they were missing animals, the local police would already be investigating that lead, but I can't pick up any real activity on the scanner transmissions from that direction. Some phone calls were placed. Conversations ensued. Negative claims about freed animals. Of course that doesn't mean it isn't being covered up for some strange reason."
Pete began clicking through the stations looking for news programming. "What's the likelihood that whoever is freeing the critters would be able to corral them back into their pens by morning?"
"My bet is on 'slim to none'," Artie replied confidently. "Most wild animals don't like being caged up and will continue to roam given the chance. But to play devil's advocate, it's been demonstrated that some animals, if caged for most of their lives, will return to those cages simply because they view it as a safe environment."
"So I guess we make the rounds," Myka said, jotting down notes on a pad. "The zoo, police headquarters, victims and witnesses." Her pen paused over the last word. "Hey Artie?"
"Yeah?"
"Any reports about catching one these things?"
Artie's stared at her and slowly stroked his mustache. "Not yet, although I'm hoping that'll happen soon if only to help us understand where they come from and why they are on the move all of a sudden. Keep me posted. Bye." With that, he simply stretched out his middle finger and poked at the off button. His image flashed down to a tiny bright spot on the lens, then winked out.
"Typical," Pete murmured, throwing himself back onto her bed. Though he'd been eager to be on assignment rather than doing inventory work, his adrenalin levels were bottoming out after all the stress he'd endured just to get there. If truth be told, he was fervently wishing for a few minutes shut-eye.
Myka had other ideas. She poked him several times and finally coerced him back up into a sitting position. Together, they flitted back and forth through local news networks looking for the best place to start their investigation.