Marlowe and the Spacewoman by Ian M. Dudley Read Free Book Online Page B

K. Polk Memorial Parking Structure right next to the main entrance.  Very large, and with a sign that said, “Plenty of parking. Come on in!”  And it looked like such a fun parking structure.  Painted in bright orange and yellow tones, with pictures of smiling suns and happy children stenciled across every square meter.  Only a fool would enter.  A fool who had been summoned to City Hall and wasn’t destined to leave.  It was, in actuality, camouflage for a large impound yard.  They had to put the leftover cars somewhere, as having derelicts dotted around the perimeter of City Hall was deemed unsightly and a dead giveaway as to who was responsible for the disappearances.  An underground highway ran from the impound yard to a recycling facility that melted down the vehicles and sent the extracted raw materials to an automobile factory.  A few cars managed to escape though.  As teenagers, Marlowe remembered following his brother on his birthday as he walked up and down the rows of nicer cars, deciding which two he would get for that year.
    Marlowe looked in the rear view mirror.  Gwen and Artie had de-opaqued the mirrored windshield and were glaring at him.  Gwen was foaming at the mouth, fists shaking with apoplectic rage, while Artie’s mono brow had furled into a thick angry slash across his forehead, his hand pounding on the light switch.
    “Car, how many times have we driven around the block?”
    The Studebaker gave three quick honks.  The car couldn’t talk; Marlowe had ripped out the audio system as soon as he’d made the last payment.  The car was very whiny and prone to verbalizing its views on Communists and the latest fashion trends, which drove Marlowe nuts.
    “Three times?  No wonder they’re angry back there.  Just drop me off out front, and keep circling until you find a spot or I call you.”
    The Studebaker finished its circuit and paused just long enough in front of the entrance to City Hall for Marlowe to get out.  The stretch tank with Gwen and Artie plowed up onto the sidewalk and stopped just short of the marble steps, sending pedestrians scattering.  The hatch popped open and the Governor’s two enforcers climbed out.
    Gwen was tall, broad-shouldered, and layered with muscles.  She had black stubble for hair, was missing her left eye, and this morning had a drooling problem.  Artie was short, swarthy, and extremely irritable when he wasn’t beating someone up.  Marlowe knew this from experience.  Artie also had large flapping ears, suffered from male pattern baldness, and was sensitive about his mono brow.  
    “Gwen, Artemis, how are you?”
    Gwen stepped to his left, Artie to his right, each talking hold of one arm.  They lifted him and started up the marble steps.  Because of their height difference, though, Marlowe saw the world through a new, tilted perspective.
    “Oh, nothing but these dreadful errands,” replied Artie.  “The Governor needs a certain individual, and who does he send out to collect him?  Us.  I tell you, our talents are wasted.”
    Gwen grunted.  “I uz at the denis.”
    “I’m sorry, what?”
    “She was at the dentist’s office, getting a new implant.  She hates going to the dentist, and just wanted to get it over with.  But the dentist had no sooner jabbed her with the NoMoPain, when the Governor called.  ’Go and collect Marlowe, right now!’  So she’s gonna have to go back and get another injection.”
    Gwen’s grip, already uncomfortably tight around Marlowe’s arm, increased in strength.
    “Well, that explains the drooling, eh, Gwen?”
    She squeezed even tighter, and Marlowe’s left hand began to tingle.
    “Well, Artemis,” continued Marlowe, who had learned never to call him Artie to his face, “now we know the answer to the age old question.”
    Artie was starting to huff and puff, a sheen of sweat forming just above his mono brow.  “What age old question?”
    “Where does a four hundred kilo gorilla park