Read Online The Good Doctor's Tales Folio Four by Randall Farmer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Randall Farmer
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live with that,”
she said. “I’m familiar with your type, though. You know too much, but you
don’t have enough real-world experience to back up your knowledge. If you’re
not careful, you’re going to get yourself killed taking chances you shouldn’t,
and blow the Network sky-high.”
“I assure you, Miss Woo, I have no intention of taking
any such chances.” He knew his business. He hoped Dahlia knew hers.
“You probably won’t even realize you’re taking a chance
before it’s too late.” He shook his head, and Dahlia stood. Faster than he
could react, she slipped around behind him, grabbed his right thumb, and yanked
up. A single left index finger touch bowed his back and plastered his face on
the grimy and dusty table. “Despite your tricks and skills, you need to avoid
any physical confrontations, Dr. Zielinski. Living through one of those takes
months of training and continuous practice, neither of which you’re getting
here.” She pulled up a bit more on his finger, the pain making Hank grimace.
“Nor do you have any natural aptitude in this area.”
“Point taken,” he said, forcing his words out through
the pain. Damned spooks. He should have expected this, especially after he
had caught similar grief from some of his comrades in the Liaison Detachment.
He wasn’t a warrior. Never was, never would be.
The pain stopped and he sat back up. All ninety pounds
of Dahlia Woo was gone.
Tails (continued)
(1964)
He needed a plan to ditch these tails, Hank decided.
Following Dahlia Woo’s old advice, he needed help. He leafed through his
contacts in his mind, and found only two within a reasonable driving distance:
Focus Schrum in White Plains and Focus Abernathy in Long Hill, to the northwest
of Bridgeport. Of the two, he trusted Focus Abernathy more – in specific, he
trusted her often-stated desire to stay out of Focus politics. Focus Schrum,
one of the leading Focuses, bothered him more than he liked to admit. She
wasn’t the overall leader of the Focuses, and given her personality, she could
easily take umbrage at his uninvited appearance, or be the Focus behind the
current Focus faction fight, on the side of the ones tailing him.
Focus Abernathy it was. To get to her place, though, he
would have to backtrack a bit, as he had passed the Bridgeport exit ten minutes
ago.
His main worry was that whoever was tailing him was
using more than two vehicles. A four-car box tail would be a bitch to lose,
and enough of a threat that Focus Abernathy would have his hide if he brought
that many people on his tail to her place.
He tried to remember all the ways you could elude a
tail, something better than driving the wrong way down a freeway. The old
lessons came back. Slowly. Do illogical things ( it makes the tailing
vehicles stand out ). Run red lights. Drive the wrong way down one-way
streets. After rounding a blind curve, make a bootlegger’s turn and double
back. Get out into the wide-open country, where sightlines are long and tails
become obvious. Go through alleys, dirt roads, parking lots, and people’s
lawns. Take a freeway exit without warning, cutting across as many lanes of
traffic as you can.
He decided to do the latter, after he spotted the next
exit, to Fairfield, give its one-mile warning. He took the exit with a sudden
twist of the steering wheel, at the last possible instant. His Mercedes
handled the cut well, and his swerve didn’t cause an accident, although the car
to his right honked at him on the way by.
On the back roads to Long Hill, he smiled when he realized
only one vehicle still tailed him, hanging nearly a half mile back.
“You’re being tailed?” Focus Abernathy said. “You?”
She had come down the driveway on foot, to find out whom her two outer guards
had detained. She wore overalls, a bandana, and smelled of manure.
He nodded. “There they are,” he said, spotting
she said. “I’m familiar with your type, though. You know too much, but you
don’t have enough real-world experience to back up your knowledge. If you’re
not careful, you’re going to get yourself killed taking chances you shouldn’t,
and blow the Network sky-high.”
“I assure you, Miss Woo, I have no intention of taking
any such chances.” He knew his business. He hoped Dahlia knew hers.
“You probably won’t even realize you’re taking a chance
before it’s too late.” He shook his head, and Dahlia stood. Faster than he
could react, she slipped around behind him, grabbed his right thumb, and yanked
up. A single left index finger touch bowed his back and plastered his face on
the grimy and dusty table. “Despite your tricks and skills, you need to avoid
any physical confrontations, Dr. Zielinski. Living through one of those takes
months of training and continuous practice, neither of which you’re getting
here.” She pulled up a bit more on his finger, the pain making Hank grimace.
“Nor do you have any natural aptitude in this area.”
“Point taken,” he said, forcing his words out through
the pain. Damned spooks. He should have expected this, especially after he
had caught similar grief from some of his comrades in the Liaison Detachment.
He wasn’t a warrior. Never was, never would be.
The pain stopped and he sat back up. All ninety pounds
of Dahlia Woo was gone.
Tails (continued)
(1964)
He needed a plan to ditch these tails, Hank decided.
Following Dahlia Woo’s old advice, he needed help. He leafed through his
contacts in his mind, and found only two within a reasonable driving distance:
Focus Schrum in White Plains and Focus Abernathy in Long Hill, to the northwest
of Bridgeport. Of the two, he trusted Focus Abernathy more – in specific, he
trusted her often-stated desire to stay out of Focus politics. Focus Schrum,
one of the leading Focuses, bothered him more than he liked to admit. She
wasn’t the overall leader of the Focuses, and given her personality, she could
easily take umbrage at his uninvited appearance, or be the Focus behind the
current Focus faction fight, on the side of the ones tailing him.
Focus Abernathy it was. To get to her place, though, he
would have to backtrack a bit, as he had passed the Bridgeport exit ten minutes
ago.
His main worry was that whoever was tailing him was
using more than two vehicles. A four-car box tail would be a bitch to lose,
and enough of a threat that Focus Abernathy would have his hide if he brought
that many people on his tail to her place.
He tried to remember all the ways you could elude a
tail, something better than driving the wrong way down a freeway. The old
lessons came back. Slowly. Do illogical things ( it makes the tailing
vehicles stand out ). Run red lights. Drive the wrong way down one-way
streets. After rounding a blind curve, make a bootlegger’s turn and double
back. Get out into the wide-open country, where sightlines are long and tails
become obvious. Go through alleys, dirt roads, parking lots, and people’s
lawns. Take a freeway exit without warning, cutting across as many lanes of
traffic as you can.
He decided to do the latter, after he spotted the next
exit, to Fairfield, give its one-mile warning. He took the exit with a sudden
twist of the steering wheel, at the last possible instant. His Mercedes
handled the cut well, and his swerve didn’t cause an accident, although the car
to his right honked at him on the way by.
On the back roads to Long Hill, he smiled when he realized
only one vehicle still tailed him, hanging nearly a half mile back.
“You’re being tailed?” Focus Abernathy said. “You?”
She had come down the driveway on foot, to find out whom her two outer guards
had detained. She wore overalls, a bandana, and smelled of manure.
He nodded. “There they are,” he said, spotting
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