Scatman Dues (Freaky Florida Mystery Adventures Book 6) by Margaret Lashley (ereader for android TXT) 📕

“The probiotics and the enema kit should arrive sometime before ten o’clock.”

“Enema kit?” Jimmy asked.

“Grayson thinks the fastest way to get Earl better is to remove all the bacteria in his gut.”

“About that,” Jimmy said. “Me and my brother still have a few questions.”

Grayson poised his coffee cup mid-sip. “Such as?”

“Ahem ... No disrespect or anything, but Garth and I are still not completely convinced some little bacteria can be responsible for making these guys act so weird.”

“Totally understandable,” Grayson said. “The fact is, no one knows with any certainty what kind of influence bacteria has on our behavior, how we react, or who we even are.”

“Right, but—”

Grayson sidled into the banquette next to Jimmy. “I, for one, am both amazed and amused at the idea that humans, as intelligent and advanced as we consider ourselves to be, are at least partially under the control of single-celled lifeforms.”

I glanced around at the men around me—a crazy-eyed disbarred physicist, a bucktoothed doomsday prepper, and a conspiracy-nut cop who last night peeled himself out of a fat suit.

“Maybe you are,” I muttered.

“Believe what you will,” Grayson said. “But we would all do well to remember that our bacterial brethren predate us by billions of years, and are likely to outlive our species by billions more.”

“What if you’re right,” Jimmy said. “Let’s say bacteria is what’s driving Earl and those other guys nuts. How do you explain how they got so fat so quickly?”

“Elementary,” Grayson said. “Yeast is a form of bacteria. The byproduct of yeast’s digestion of sugars is gas.”

“Like Tooth with the possum stink?” Garth asked.

Grayson gave a quick nod. “Precisely. And it’s this exact type of ‘bacterial flatulence,’ if you will, that causes bread dough to rise.”

Grayson glanced over at me. “Ironically, Drex, it appears your satirical description of these men being ‘Pillsbury Dough Zombies’ is both colorful and relatively accurate—despite its being arrived at based on mere anecdotal evidence.”

My eyes narrowed. “Was that a compliment or an insult?”

A dimple formed in Grayson’s chin. “Who says it can’t be both?”

Wait a minute. If we’re mostly bacteria, and bacteria produce farts ... dear lord! Are we nothing more than the hapless pawns of parasitic gas bags?

I’d suspected as much for years.

“Uh ... excuse me,” Jimmy said. “If I understand you right, Mr. Gray, you’re saying bad bacteria got inside Earl through the donuts, right?”

“Precisely,” Grayson answered. “And it’s currently driving his thought processes and behaviors.”

“And the solution is to remove it?” Jimmy asked.

“Via enema.” Grayson said. “Then we’ll recreate a healthy microbiome by reintroduced probiotics afterward.”

I blanched, envisioned the three of them hogtying Earl, then ... ugh!

Garth’s bottom jaw dropped loose. “Uh...”

Jimmy grimaced. “Sorry, Mr. Gray. But there’s no way we could wrestle him down for that.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” I said.

“Thank God!” Garth said.

All three men turned their attention my way. “What do you propose?” Grayson asked.

“Uh ...,” I stammered. “I propose we send a message up Earl’s Las Vegas nerve thing using an artificial chemical stimulant.”

Grayson eyed me curiously. “I’m not following.”

I smirked.

Ha! I finally got one over on him! Score!

I stuck my nose haughtily in the air. “Well, if I must explain, I’m talking about giving Earl the old X-Lax/chocolate switcheroo.”

“Of course!” Garth said, reaching over to give me a high five. “That would do it!”

“What?” Grayson asked.

“We’re gonna give him a chocolate bar,” Garth said. “Only the ‘chocolate’ ain’t chocolate.”

Grayson’s eyebrows inched closer together.

“It’s a laxative,” Jimmy said.

“Oh.” Grayson rubbed his chin. “I supposed that could work.” He grabbed his laptop. “Garth, quick. What’s your address here?”

I smirked. “Ordering Ex-Lax on line?”

“No,” Grayson said, tapping away at his keyboard. “I’m putting a rush delivery on that new mattress.”

Chapter Forty-Eight

Grayson was right about one thing.

What goes in, must come out.

Luckily, as it turned out, there was no need for Grayson to order the Ex-Lax online. Jimmy and Garth had a stockpile of it in their prepper pantry. Apparently, freeze-dried survivalist meals could really clog one’s pipes.

After Jimmy climbed up on the roof of the RV and dropped the clandestine “chocolate” through the air vent above the back bedroom, the brothers retreated back to their trailer, leaving Grayson and me behind to “face the music.”

It didn’t take long for us to realize Earl had taken the bait.

From the symphony of sounds and smells emanating from the locked-down monster trap bedroom, I knew without a doubt that Grayson and I were going to require alternative sleeping quarters for the night, whether we ever let Earl out of there or not.

Grayson put a stethoscope against the bolted steel door and listened. “Hmm. From the sound of it, it appears the interstitial cells of Cajal have given up.”

My eyebrows met. “Is that the name of the alien species of bacteria that’s got a hold of him?”

“What?” Grayson asked.

“Those Cajal things! Were they what was on that donut hole thing Earl ate?”

“Oh.” Grayson’s shoulders straightened. “No. Testing of the cruller fragment isn’t yet conclusive. I need to give the cultures a bit more time to grow.”

“So what are those intergalactic Jihad cells you were talking about?”

Grayson dropped the stethoscope, letting it hang loosely around his neck. “The interstitial cells of Cajal?”

“Yeah.”

“They’re actually quite terrestrial, Drex. They’re the cells responsible for intestinal activity. They’re inside each of us, acting as the ‘pacemakers of the bowels,’ if you will.”

Earl let out a wail. Either that, or the world’s longest fart in c-sharp.

I cringed and glanced at the bedroom door. “Thanks for the biology lesson, Professor Grayson. But if you think I’m cleaning up that mess in there, you’re gonna need your own pacemaker.”

Grayson looked down his nose at me. “May I remind you, Drex, giving him Ex-Lax was your idea.”

“Yeah. But locking him in the bedroom without a pot to piss in was your idea.”

Grayson pursed his lips. “True. But we couldn’t chance letting him out. It seems unlikely he’d be able to control his urges. There’s nothing more addictive than the white stuff.”

I blanched. “Cocaine? I thought you said your test