“Before I answer that,” I told Ludlo, “I need to know: you couldn’t possibly have thought I was dumb enough to walk in here with a Time Crystal, right?”
“So Ariyl has them,” said Ludlo.
“No, and she doesn’t know where I hid them,” I lied.
“Well, I’ll just have to break you in little pieces in front of her, and test that assumption.”
“What happened to all this crap about us being on the same side? I told you, I’ll take care of John King for you.”
Ludlo shook his head.
“You just admitted that you won’t kill a child. As Oliver Hardy would say, anytime I want something done right, I’ll always have to do it myself. Tell Ariyl if she wants you back alive, to get me the damn Crystals!”
Gunshots down below. A stray slug chipped off a stone star in the exterior facade. Ludlo cursed and dragged me out on the patio to look down.
Ariyl held the gun hands of the two deputies aloft as they fired one last time into the air. Then she slammed the two lawmen together and tossed them against their car. They bounced senseless to the sidewalk. Then she looked up at us, and made a dash for the entrance.
Ludlo fired once, missing her, before she disappeared from view. She must have flattened beside the ground floor wall.
“You just can’t find competent cops these days,” fumed Ludlo. He addressed the silver obelisk. “Alti, call 9-1-1. Shots fired, officers down. Notify Sheriffs, LAPD, and SWAT.”
He rattled that off like he was ordering Chinese food. Within seconds, I heard new police sirens start wailing from all directions, two or three miles off, but growing louder and higher-pitched as they converged on our location.
Meanwhile, I could see the tower’s shadow on the building to the east: including Ariyl’s silhouette as she leapt to the top of the first story entrance, then rapidly climbed the corner of the tower. We could hear her fists smashing into the window frames for new handholds.
“When she gets here, I’ll have to kill at least one of you,” said Ludlo. “Be smart and tell me where the Crystals are now.”
“I hung ’em on a Christmas tree.”
Seething, he put his palm against my nose, his fingers clamped around my face like a vise.
“Or maybe I’ll just crush the front of your skull. Let you feel what it’s like to walk around wearing a horror mask 24/7.”
“See?” I said, my lips mashed together by his grip. “This is why nobody wants you to time trave– nnngh!”
He squeezed harder. I was in too much agony for wisecracking. This was definitely going to leave bruises.
“Stop!” wailed Synthia.
“Shut up!” he barked. “Last chance to save your face, David! What I wouldn’t give for that.”
Suddenly he stopped and listened. The tinkle of glass that had marked Ariyl’s ascent had halted. Still gripping my face, he leaned over the patio wall and fired downward.
Only there was no Ariyl below him to hit. He dragged me back into the penthouse.
The next second she swung down from the roof above us and smashed through the window, landing on Ludlo.
Ludlo lost his grip on me. I hit the floor. I was seeing stars by this point, but around the edges I could see her and Ludlo grappling for the gun.
He pushed Ariyl toward the broken window. Lying on the floor, all I could do was grab his ankle and hold on. Fortunately, that was enough to make him overbalance.
Ariyl slammed Ludlo’s hand against the jagged glass. It cut his wrist, blood spurted, and he lost his grip: the gun flew over the patio wall to the street below.
“Security!” he howled. An alarm klaxon began blaring.
The brass elevator indicator now moved downward toward the lobby.
Ariyl delivered a throat punch that put a stop to Ludlo’s shouts, and two karate chops that landed him on the floor in a heap. Her blows would have killed an ordinary man, but I knew Ludlo was only unconscious. His slashed wrist was already healing, the blood flow reduced to a thin thread of red.
Synthia/Marilyn ran to Ludlo’s desk and pushed a button. I heard locks click.
“Stop her!” yelled Ariyl.
I grabbed Synthia’s wrist.
“No, don’t!” said Synthia, in her breathy Marilyn voice. “I locked off the top floors. Let me shut down the elevator so they can’t come up!”
The elevator indicator was now moving back up to the penthouse. Could I truly trust an A.I. in a sex-clone’s body?
“Why are you doing this?” I demanded.
“I want you to take me with you! Wherever you go!”
Hoo boy. But this was no time to equivocate.
“Okay, do it,” I said.
“Promise?”
“Yes, do it!”
Synthia punched the button. To my relief the indicator slowed, then stopped between floors 9 and 10. Now the elevator alarm bell went off to provide a nerve-jangling counterpoint to the klaxon.
“David!”
Out at the patio wall, Ariyl pointed down to the street. A self-driving SWAT van with strobes flashing screeched to a halt in the driveway. No SWAT humans jumped out. Instead, mounted machine guns with laser sights swiveled up to draw a bead on the windows, as the siren cut out and a synthesized male voice barked from the loudspeakers:
“Police! You are surrounded! Come out with your hands up!”
Ariyl leaned out a bit more. I saw the red laser dot on her forehead.
“Down!” I yelled, instinctively tackling her. I was never going to topple her, naturally, but Ariyl was already in motion—she hit the floor and rolled on top of me. Synthia landed beside us as machine gun bullets raked the ceiling. We were lucky the van didn’t have a direct line of fire into the penthouse.
A red-glowing dot floated onto the patio. A spy dram!
Ariyl’s hand shot up; she caught and crushed the flying camera like an annoying gnat.
“This is your last warning! Come to the window with your hands on your heads!”
This, they said after they fired on us? This A.I. program could use better programming for crisis negotiation. But I was starting to suspect the SWAT van was merely a stall.
The stealthy beating of helicopter blades grew louder. I peeked over the shard-covered sill: from the direction of the Hollywood sign, a black-and-white gunship was zooming toward us at Autobahn speed.
“We can’t hide from a copter—this place is nothing but windows!” I yelled.
Ariyl grabbed the unconscious Ludlo and threw him in his office chair. “Tie him in, we’ll use him for a shield!”
Keeping low, I scoured the office, grabbing lamps and other appliances, none of them attached to an outlet.
“Damn! Guess they don’t use power cords anymore. Looks like that ‘crackpot’ Tesla was right after all.”
Synthia opened a drawer in Ludlo’s desk. There were a ton of plastic zip ties. I grabbed a dozen and started cinching them tight around his wrists and the armrests.
“I don’t want to know what he has these for,” I commented.
“No, you don’t,” said Synthia in a soft voice.
“What we need now is a getaway car,” I said.
“You should have tipped Ernest,” said Ariyl.
“Wouldn’t help. I’d bet my gold doubloon these new cars all have kill-switches the cops control.”
“There are old cars in the basement,” volunteered Synthia.
Oh, my God. Of course, the collection!
“Only how do we get there?” I wondered.
Ariyl pointed at a metal hatch set into the wall.
“Is that like in the Richfield Building? A trash chute?”
“It’s for laundry,” said Synthia.
“Perfect for a clean getaway,” I said, rolling Ludlo in his chair between us and the window.
“He is so funny!” giggled Synthia.
“A regular riot,” said Ariyl, exasperated.
“I mean, if we weren’t about to be killed,” Synthia added, earnestly.
Crouched behind the chair, we backed up to the chute. I unlatched it, lowered the hatch and put my head inside—and looked down a hundred foot drop.
“It’s, like, ten stories,” I realized.
“Don’t worry, I’ll catch you,” Ariyl said.
Another tiny dram flew in the window. Ariyl smacked it against the wall, where it left a little plastic stain.
Ariyl squeezed herself into the chute. Her butt nearly got wedged, but with a firm push she got herself in. At least her bust was a bit more compressible.
She let go and a few seconds later, I heard her land on a pile of laundry.
“Come on down!” her voice echoed up.
“Wait a sec, m-maybe I better not,” trembled Synthia.
“You can’t stay with Ludlo. He’ll kill you for helping us!” I said. Then I scooped her up and slid her feet into the chute.
“No, please don’t!” She flipped onto her stomach and clung desperately to the opening.
The police gunship slowed until it was hovering outside the window. It rotated sideways as the cops inside slid open the door. One, wearing a mask, aimed a futuristic tear gas gun.
“Synthia, let go!” I urged.
“Put your hands up and surrender!” blared the other cop on a throat-mic that amped him like a bullhorn.
Ludlo woke up with a start.
“What the f–?” He realized he was zip-tied to his chair. He strained against the plastic bands, but these were no mere handcuff chains that he could easily snap.
“Jesus, who’s this freak?” asked the cop, tactlessly broadcasting it over the bullhorn amp.
“I’m Octavius Johnson!” Ludlo snarled. “I own this building, you moron! If you want to keep your pension, put down the tear gas and cut me loose!”
“It’s now or never!” I told Synthia. “It’s easy! Close your eyes and trust me.” She obeyed.
I peeled her fingers off the rim and she dropped like a stone, screaming the whole way.
“Oooooof!” she exclaimed with surprise at the bottom. Ariyl had indeed caught her.
“That was fun!” cooed Synthia, far off.
I heard wrenching metal as Ludlo tore one armrest off his chair. He got to his feet and staggered to one side, the rest of the chair hanging off his other arm.
I climbed into the chute.
“Stop!” yelled the bullhorn cop. The other one aimed his tear gas grenade at me but I pulled up the hatch of the chute behind me as I slid down.
There was a loud clang, hissing gas, choking and furious swearing from Ludlo.
Meanwhile I fell. My heart was in my mouth and then the chute went diagonal and I shot out into a room with a concrete floor—and into Ariyl’s arms. She caught me as if someone had tossed her a duffel bag.
“Told you I could handle Ludlo,” she smiled. She set me on my feet. Synthia stared at us.
Then Ariyl frowned at my face.
“Did Ludlo give you those?” she demanded.
Apparently the bruises were already visible.
“Never mind that now!” I said.
“They’re in the basement!” coughed Ludlo, his strangled voice echoing down the shaft.
“What?” choked one of his security men.
“Just get down there!” raged Ludlo.
“Yeah, let’s hide the Time Crystals miles away,” grumbled Ariyl. “That’s our insurance policy.”
“Ludlo didn’t get them, did he?” I snapped back.
“Neither will we if we don’t find a way out of here!” said Ariyl. As usual, she had a point.
I looked around...to find that the one-time hotel parking garage had been converted to the Sunset Tower Auto Museum, complete with display placards and velvet ropes. It was just as cool as Ernie had advertised.
“Block the doors, I’ll find us a ride!” I yelled.
Ariyl delivered a powerful kick to cave in the elevator doors, to impede a descending car.
Some of the vehicles, like the bullet-riddled Bonnie and Clyde Death Car, were just museum pieces. But there was a working gas pump in the garage, so some of these babies had to run.
I briefly considered the 1906 Stanley Steamer. An incredible machine in its day, it could do better than 120 miles per hour. But, no—we didn’t have time to build up a head of steam.
“Just pick one!” yelled Ariyl, as she jammed a heavy metal workbench under the door handle at the stairway.
I glanced at the 1966 Drag-u-la—a genuine rail dragster customized with casket and organ pipes by George Barris for The Munsters sitcom. But it wouldn’t seat three.
At the far end of the garage, Ariyl blocked off the other stairwell door. Moments later, bullets tore through the door and pinged off the metal table, providing ventilation but no entry.
Ariyl was already dashing back to us.
“Anytime, David!”
Who was I kidding? It had to be the copper-mist colored 1976 Pontiac Firebird Esprit, yellow-on-black license plate OKG 853. Hang the carbon footprint, this Detroit muscle car from eight decades ago was our best bet to make it to Santa Monica.
I yanked the Pontiac’s keys off a valet board, jumped in and turned on the ignition. The tank was half full. I cranked it and with a mighty VROOM and a cloud of sooty monoxide, it roared to life. Thank God someone had been maintaining this big boy.
“Get in!” I yelled. Synthia, who was right by me, took shotgun; Ariyl arrived in time to jump in back. “Buckle up!” I told them.
We burned rubber up the ramp to the street.
Emerging onto Sunset Boulevard, we nearly ran over an ambulatory police drone—it looked like a minifridge bristling with gun barrels, riding a mechanical ostrich. The Firebird’s right front headlight clipped the walking weapon on its knee joint and knocked it spinning, just as it opened fire on us. The robot’s spray of bullets chewed up the front of the tower entrance and tore apart several of Ludlo’s security men as the cops dove for their lives.
I whipped the wheel hard left and the tires screamed as we sped west on Sunset. I ran the red light at La Cienega to zoom left down the hill.
“Look out!” shrieked Synthia. Three cars that had the right-of-way immediately jammed to a halt and their horns blared in unison—these A.I. vehicles had better reflexes than humans. We missed them by centimeters.
As we sped south toward Santa Monica Boulevard, I saw both the northbound and southbound traffic pull over to the right for a brace of LAPD and Sheriff’s cruisers, racing north towards us, sirens wailing. Traffic was thick—there was no room to do a U-turn. So I locked up the brakes, shifted into reverse and looked over my shoulder as I backed up La Cienega at thirty-five miles per hour.
We were speeding toward a crowded tram.
“Tell me when it’s over!” squealed Synthia, clapping her hands over her eyes.
Here goes, I thought.
I took my foot off the gas, cranked the wheel left and yanked up the emergency brake. I smelled vaporizing rubber and hydraulic oil as the wheels locked and the Firebird’s front end skidded a dizzying 180 degrees. We ended up facing north. I released the handbrake, punched the accelerator and we zoomed back up the hill.
“Yesss! A perfect Rockford Turn!” enthused Ariyl.
“You know The Rockford Files?” I marveled, swerving around the tram.
“What’s that?” asked Ariyl.
“Only the best detective show ever,” I said. “Dad showed me the whole series on tape when I was nine. Jim Garner must’ve done that stunt every third episode. We’re in one of his Firebirds from the show.”
I mentally thanked Dad for all those nights with Jimbo...and for teaching me to drive a stick.
“Ooh, I love Rockford! And Angel! He’s awful, but he’s so sweet,” nodded Synthia. Apparently, they had a lot of free time to watch old shows at the Sunset Tower.
“Oh!” said Ariyl, feeling a little left out. “I never knew where the word came from. But we used it a lot playing Moonshine Run.”
“What’s that?” asked Synthia.
“One of her vidz,” I said. “It’s after your time.”
“Aiiieeee!” screamed Synthia as I hung another left on a red. We fishtailed through stopped cars and fled west on Sunset, cop cars wailing in pursuit.