The Interstellar Police Force, Book One: The Historic Mission by Raymond Klein (ebook reader 7 inch txt) 📕

eyes. Why were they so fixated on copulating so much? “Ah, no! That is not what I meant. I really only need some information.” Bollar held out a fifty dollar bill. “If you have the time?”

Billy gave him a big gold smile. “Time,” he said, as he reached in and took the bill, “I got, friend.”

Chapter Forty-Seven

“Are you crazy, I can get fired for that!” Norman Freeman said, as he straightened up a display of I-Phones, “I know we got a history, but I have a legit job now, Billy, and I’m not about to fuck that up.” He had been working at the Mobile Plus store for only six months.

“Oh, com’ on, Norm,” Billy Bourbon said. “It's only one address. No one will know, but you and me.” An I-phone slipped off its display as Norman ignored Billy. He replaced it and walked to the next display.

The day before, Bollar and Billy Bourbon were at Ray’s, sitting at the same table where Bollar had his last meeting with Colus Valda. He was explaining to Billy that he just needed him to keep tabs on this man that Jennifer knew. When he was coming to town, where he was going, where he lived. When Billy asked why, Bollar’s only response was that he was a business acquaintance. And for a nice incentive Bollar had given him four more fifty-dollar bills which stopped Billy’s questions.

Billy reached into his pocket and pulled out one of the fifties. “Com’ on, Norm, It’s just one address.” He held out the bill for Norman to take. “Help out ol’ Billy. For ol’ times sake.”

Billy Bourbon exited the Mobile Plus store. As he was walking down Grant Street, he reached for the walkie-talkie that Bollar gave him. He thought it odd that Bollar didn’t have a cell phone and wanted to be reached on this little weird-looking thing. He pushed the button and said, “Hello, Mr. Bollar? You there?” He waited for a couple of seconds, listened to static, and then repeated, “Mr. Bollar? . . . Over.”

“Go ahead, Mr. Bourbon,” came the response.

“Yeah, I got Twinkie’s address, I’m gonna go over there now. If she’s hang'n around with this guy you know, he probably be by to see her or she’ll go to him. Either which way, I’m sure I can find out where he lives for you . . . over.”

Over what? Bollar thought to himself. “That will be fine. Just be careful if you follow him, don’t get spotted.”

“Oh, no worries, Mr. Bollar. I’ll get your info for you, so don’t you worry none. Over and out!”

Bollar put the IPF radio onto the passenger seat of his car and thought what was with the out and overs? This sure is a strange culture. He had turned on the Electronic Pulse Interrupter five minutes earlier as he approached Fine Antiques On Third. Parking his car around the corner one block over, he got out, his A-56 tucked under his coat, and started walking toward the antique shop.

Fine Antiques OnThird had three customers. Michael was helping a young couple as they looked over several rings, while Janice talked with a woman about a 1920 curio cabinet. Janice was in the middle of showing the woman the original brass hardware on the cabinet when she heard someone enter the shop. She looked over toward the door and saw her daughter entering.

“Julie!” Janice said, pleasantly surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“Class got out early,” her nineteen-year-old daughter said. “So, I thought we could have lunch together.” She held up a bag from Jerry's Deli as she walked toward the backroom, “I got us a couple of salads. Take your time, I’ll set it up.” And she disappeared into the backroom.

The woman who Janice was talking to said, “Well, that was nice of her.”

Janice beamed, “Yes, she’s a sweetheart. I couldn’t have asked for better!”

The backroom wasn’t very big. There were shipping boxes and empty crates stacked along the back brick wall, and the shelves were filled with dusty odds and ends. Julie placed the bag on the small round table that had the morning newspaper on it, and pulled out two Styrofoam containers. She was reaching in for the dressing when she thought she heard an angry voice. The backroom's door was half-way open and she glanced into the showroom through the crack between the door’s hinges and door jamb. To her horror, she saw a man holding a big gun to the back of Michael’s head.

Julie's heart stopped as she turned from the door and huddled in the corner. My God! A robbery, she thought as she started to breathe heavily. She fumbled for her cell phone and punched in 9-1-1. She held the shaking phone to her ear, but didn’t hear the emergency operator, only a strange electronic noise. She angrily looked at her phone. What the hell? This had never happened before! She dropped the phone to the floor when she heard her mother say, “Stop pointing that at me! I’m trying to get it open!”

Julie started to cry and made her way to the back door, trying her best not to make any noise. She was hyperventilating while trying to enter the security code into the locking system to the backdoor. She got it wrong the first time and had to do it again. It opened with a loud click that made her jump. She quietly got out of the building. The bright sunlight made her squint as she ran as fast as she could across the street to the auto parts store where her boyfriend worked.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Jeff and Jennifer were down in the garage. Jennifer was in the driver's seat of the backed-in Thunderbird and Jeff the passenger's. “See how it makes everything shine!” She was saying as she applied another coat of cleaner to the dashboard. “It will also prevent it from cracking since you drive with the top down so much.”

“It also brings the