Chase Baker & the Humanzees from Hell (A Chase Baker Thriller Book 8) by Benjamin Sobieck
Authors: Benjamin Sobieck
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laws forbid you from owning a human being.”
The plot thickens, but so does my bullshit detector. He’s an opportunist trying to con us out of something. The Russian accent is probably a fake.
“Nice try, buddy, but even if you’re telling the truth, you’re the one who is mistaken,” I say. “The Iceman hit the scene in the 1960s, which means it would technically fall to the Soviet Union, a country that no longer exists. Second, it’s not a human being. It’s a…a…”
I want to say, “fake,” but I lose my appetite to kick the Museum of the Bizarre while it’s down. Instead, I turn to Hillary and ask, “What is it exactly?” because I can’t imagine she’d put a human corpse on display for profit.
“It makes me a lot of money. That’s what it is,” Hillary says without a hint of remorse.
“You never confirmed what it actually is?” I say. I’m unpleasantly surprised by her lack of empathy. What if the Iceman is just some guy who found himself locked inside a freezer back in the ‘60s?
Doctor X chuckles and mutters something in Russian before switching back to English to say, “All you need to know is it’s human and it belongs to the Russian government. The fall of the CCCP doesn’t change either of those things. Indeed, it is you who is the criminal. I merely reclaimed stolen property and pulled over on the side of the road, where I was attacked by a woman in a vehicle and a man with a gun.”
He’s got a point, even if it’s only logical in the vortex of conversations like this one. I lower the .45 while Hillary looks on incredulously like I pulled a severed head out of my pocket.
What the hell am I doing here? Is Hillary who she says she is? Should I really be helping her reclaim a human body so she can turn a buck? And what’s the true story behind the Iceman?
I need answers before I can even think about using that .45 again.
“Good to see you’re a reasonable man, Mr. Baker. I wish I could say the same for Ms. Carter,” Doctor X says. “We tried the easy way, but she refused. We had no choice. Our agent gave his life to cover our tracks, to make this look like a random act or an accident. The Iceman is that important to my country.”
“And why is that?” I say.
“That’s not for you to know,” Doctor X says. He nods to the Jeep. “Now move that vehicle so I can be on my way, and so you two can live to see tomorrow.”
Hillary holds the keys, and she isn’t in a hurry to move the Jeep away from its position blocking in Doctor X’s car.
“Not until you tell me where you’re keeping it and when you’re bringing it back,” she says to Doctor X.
“Fine. Have it your way,” Doctor X says and whistles.
Whistles?
Suddenly, I’m not the only one with a laser sight out here. A spider web of lasers stretches out across the night, ensnaring Hillary and I like two trapped flies.
“Did you think I travel alone?” Doctor X says. “This is your last chance. Move your vehicle and let me leave, or die.”
The laser sights trained on our bodies make a convincing argument. Hillary stomps to the Jeep, fires it up and eases it back just enough for Doctor X to leave in his car, which he does after gathering his belongings from the ground. The lasers disappear as he drives away, taking any chance of finding the Iceman with him. That is, unless we follow him in the Jeep.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” I say into the open driver’s seat window of the Jeep.
“Get in,” Hillary says. “There’s no way this ends here.”
I ride shotgun in the passenger seat with the pistol while Hillary does her best NASCAR driver imitation. The laser sights from outside streak through windows as we haul ass down the road in pursuit of Doctor X.
Things are going to get interesting.
14.
Doctor X’s head start evaporates within the first minute of the Jeep peeling away at the museum. Whoever is on the other end of those laser sights fires off a few shots for good
The plot thickens, but so does my bullshit detector. He’s an opportunist trying to con us out of something. The Russian accent is probably a fake.
“Nice try, buddy, but even if you’re telling the truth, you’re the one who is mistaken,” I say. “The Iceman hit the scene in the 1960s, which means it would technically fall to the Soviet Union, a country that no longer exists. Second, it’s not a human being. It’s a…a…”
I want to say, “fake,” but I lose my appetite to kick the Museum of the Bizarre while it’s down. Instead, I turn to Hillary and ask, “What is it exactly?” because I can’t imagine she’d put a human corpse on display for profit.
“It makes me a lot of money. That’s what it is,” Hillary says without a hint of remorse.
“You never confirmed what it actually is?” I say. I’m unpleasantly surprised by her lack of empathy. What if the Iceman is just some guy who found himself locked inside a freezer back in the ‘60s?
Doctor X chuckles and mutters something in Russian before switching back to English to say, “All you need to know is it’s human and it belongs to the Russian government. The fall of the CCCP doesn’t change either of those things. Indeed, it is you who is the criminal. I merely reclaimed stolen property and pulled over on the side of the road, where I was attacked by a woman in a vehicle and a man with a gun.”
He’s got a point, even if it’s only logical in the vortex of conversations like this one. I lower the .45 while Hillary looks on incredulously like I pulled a severed head out of my pocket.
What the hell am I doing here? Is Hillary who she says she is? Should I really be helping her reclaim a human body so she can turn a buck? And what’s the true story behind the Iceman?
I need answers before I can even think about using that .45 again.
“Good to see you’re a reasonable man, Mr. Baker. I wish I could say the same for Ms. Carter,” Doctor X says. “We tried the easy way, but she refused. We had no choice. Our agent gave his life to cover our tracks, to make this look like a random act or an accident. The Iceman is that important to my country.”
“And why is that?” I say.
“That’s not for you to know,” Doctor X says. He nods to the Jeep. “Now move that vehicle so I can be on my way, and so you two can live to see tomorrow.”
Hillary holds the keys, and she isn’t in a hurry to move the Jeep away from its position blocking in Doctor X’s car.
“Not until you tell me where you’re keeping it and when you’re bringing it back,” she says to Doctor X.
“Fine. Have it your way,” Doctor X says and whistles.
Whistles?
Suddenly, I’m not the only one with a laser sight out here. A spider web of lasers stretches out across the night, ensnaring Hillary and I like two trapped flies.
“Did you think I travel alone?” Doctor X says. “This is your last chance. Move your vehicle and let me leave, or die.”
The laser sights trained on our bodies make a convincing argument. Hillary stomps to the Jeep, fires it up and eases it back just enough for Doctor X to leave in his car, which he does after gathering his belongings from the ground. The lasers disappear as he drives away, taking any chance of finding the Iceman with him. That is, unless we follow him in the Jeep.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” I say into the open driver’s seat window of the Jeep.
“Get in,” Hillary says. “There’s no way this ends here.”
I ride shotgun in the passenger seat with the pistol while Hillary does her best NASCAR driver imitation. The laser sights from outside streak through windows as we haul ass down the road in pursuit of Doctor X.
Things are going to get interesting.
14.
Doctor X’s head start evaporates within the first minute of the Jeep peeling away at the museum. Whoever is on the other end of those laser sights fires off a few shots for good
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