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

“I’m starvin’,” he said.

“No you’re not. Listen, Grayson says we’ve gotta destroy Queen Kristie’s portal. From the sound of it, it’s gonna be pretty dangerous.”

Earl frowned and placed his open palm against the pane. “Don’t go, Bobbie. Don’t leave me here.”

“You’ll be okay. I hid a door key inside there, Earl. Just keep looking.”

“Why’d you hide it?”

“So you couldn’t follow us. You’re not in your right mind for a mission right now. I hope getting rid of Queen Bimbo will also get rid of your brain fog.”

“But I don’t feel foggy. Just hungry.” Earl shot me a puppy-dog pout. “I sure could use a donut, you know?”

My heart pinged.

I know, buddy. I know.

“Listen, Earl. If I don’t come back, I want you to know I put the keys to Bessie under her front wheel.”

Earl frowned. “What do you mean, if you don’t come back?”

“I gotta go.” I turned to leave.

“Don’t leave, Bobbie!” Earl called after me. “Don’t go!”

I stopped in my tracks.

Maybe Earl is over his infestation. Maybe he really is cured.

I started to take a step to turn around.

Earl let loose a bellow.

A horrible, blood-curdling, Cruller Holler.

I wiped a tear from my cheek, set my jaw to lockdown, and marched toward my date with destiny.

I FOUND THE GUYS SWARMED together, eating leftover tacos off the hood of the giant, brown cockroach.

John Keel was right. Who says the Universal mind has to be sane?

“All right,” I said. “Let’s get this roach-coach rolling! It’s time to kill two bimbos with one stone.”

Grayson poised mid-bite. “This isn’t a suicide mission, Drex.”

I shot him some side-eye. “I meant the blonde bimbo queen and this stupid machine,” I said, kicking the cockroach’s tank treads.

“Biological Impact Mobile Bug-Out,” Garth said, patting its fender.

“Whatever,” I said, hitching up my camo sweatpants. “Come on, guys. Let’s roll.”

Chapter Sixty-Three

When I saw the familiar, faint orange glow emanating from above the forest, my Rambo-like bravado evaporated. Panic shot through me like motor oil through a busted carburetor. My knees started knocking—which was hard to hide, considering I was sitting on Grayson’s lap.

BIMBO had only been designed to hold two nerds. Yet there we were, four idiots crammed inside the tight passenger cabin.

Jimmy was seated at the vehicle’s bizarre control panel, which had more indicators on it than a nuclear power plant. Grayson had shotgun position beside him, with me perched on his knobby knees. Garth, odd man out, had been relegated to standing in the space between us, his head sticking out the round opening in the ceiling we’d all squeezed in through, his mullet flapping in the breeze like a hound-dog’s ears.

And flap it did. True to its reputation, BIMBO could really haul ass—on the asphalt, at least. So it didn’t take long until I sighted the glow in the woods—even before lookout Garth had—thanks to BIMBO’s handy, night-vision periscope.

“We’re here,” I said, squeezing the words from my suddenly tight lungs.

“Before we go into battle, I’d like to say a few words,” Grayson said, his breath hot on my neck. “Troops, as we face our enemy, our best weapon against fear is the ability to choose one thought over another.”

“Huh?” I grunted, squirming in his lap.

“The human mind can only focus on one thing at a time,” Grayson continued. “I want everyone to assuage their fears by focusing on their safe places. Got it?”

Jimmy shifted to a lower gear and nodded. “I’m there, Mr. Gray.”

“Me, too,” Garth said, forming an okay sign with his thumb and forefinger.

As for me, I envisioned curling up in my Grandma Selma’s lap. I tugged my imaginary blanket over my head, closed my eyes and nodded. “I’m there.”

“Good,” Grayson said. “Now tell me. What are your safe places?”

“Inside BIMBO,” Jimmy said with a shrug. “She’s indestructible.”

“Me, too,” Garth said.

“And you?” Grayson asked, resting a hand on my thigh.

“Uh ... in a lap,” I squeaked.

“Excellent.”

Then, to my shock, Grayson squeezed my thigh. Before I could react, he turned to Jimmy and said, “Okay, troops. It’s time for BIMBO to kick some butt.”

“Yes, sir!” Jimmy said, and turned the giant cockroach toward the glow in the woods, taking us into the swampy, hilly terrain of the Hi-Ho.

Riding off-road inside BIMBO was like taking a spin inside a clothes dryer, where the sheets and towels had been replaced with knees and elbows. By the time Garth called out that he could see the old propane tank on the top of the ridge, I was pretty sure I’d already suffered a concussion and a black eye.

“Hold up,” Grayson said to Jimmy. “Take her slow and easy from here on out.”

“Will do.” Jimmy shifted into low gear and aimed the cockroach toward the hill.

Slowly, like a tortoise digging a nest to lay its eggs, BIMBO climbed the sandy ridge. I could tell we’d reached the top when the gravity inside the cockpit leveled out, and my back was no longer glued to Grayson’s chest.

“Good work,” Grayson said, then tapped the back of Garth’s knee with two knuckles, making it buckle. The buck-toothed geek responded by popping his head down into the guts of the roach cabin.

“What’s up?” Garth asked.

“Let me have a look,” Grayson said.

The two exchanged places—only Garth was the one who sat on my lap.

“Just as I suspected,” Grayson said, surveying the scene with night-vision goggles. “It’s business as usual for Kristie’s Frickin’ Crullers.”

“What’s the game plan?” I asked.

Grayson tucked his head back into the passenger cabin. “We’ll lay low here for a bit and wait for an opening. I don’t want to run over anyone with BIMBO. Not if we can help it, that is.”

“Why can’t we just wait till the meeting’s over, and blow up the bonfire when everyone’s gone?” I asked.

“Because everyone could be gone before that,” Grayson said. “This could be the night Queen Kristie chooses to harvest them as Krull Krispies with her portal of doom.”

I chewed my lip. “But what if she really is just a dingbat