Darkly The Thunder by William W. Johnstone Page B

on brilliance. I whipped a coach’s ass years ago, when he made some dick-headed remark because my youngest kid left sports to spend more time with studies.”
    Gordie grinned. “I’m just finding out all sorts of things about you, aren’t I, you feisty old bastard!”
    Watts laughed softly. “That’s why I liked Sand so much. Damn, but that boy was brilliant. Such a waste.”
    â€œBut what did he do with that brilliance, Al? He was a rebel, and that’s all.”
    â€œOh, no, Gordie. He was much more than that. As to what he’s doing with it ... he just might be working to get our asses out of a very bad crack.”
    â€œYou still cling to that theory of yours, don’t you,
    â€œYou bet.”
    â€œWhat am I going to do with all these military people? What would you do with them, Al?”
    â€œKeep them around. Bed them down at the best motel in town, compliments of the town. The meeting was okay’d and nobody from the town or county showed up. We owe them something. Besides, if things get tight, I want them on our side.”
    SPEAKING OF WHAT PEOPLE WANT! the voice boomed. I WANT A PIECE OF THAT PRETTY LITTLE GIRL.
    Bergman stepped over and pulled Angel close to him. “Easy, honey. It’s all right.”
    Angel didn’t buy that for one second, but she felt better with his arm around her shoulders.
    The military people looked at each other, all with questions in their eyes. They remained silent.
    Howie cocked his head to one side and waited for the voice to speak again.
    THANK HEAVENS, FOR LITTLE GIRLS, the voice sang.
    Howie listened as the voice sang. It was not unpleasant; not a monotone. And the melody was just about right. Howie enjoyed show tunes and serious music.
    â€œIgnore it,” Gordie told his deputies. “Go on about your duties.”
    The singing stopped. Maj. Jackson yelped and jumped as what appeared to be an invisible finger gave him a sharp goose in the butt.
    Both Lt. Smith and Sgt. Dixon began slapping at invisible hands that roamed over their bodies, touching and squeezing.
    The sheriff’s secretary, Sarah, began screaming as her clothes were ripped from her, leaving her in only bra and pantyhose. When Deputy Alan Hibler ran to cover her with a coat he’d grabbed from a rack, something clobbered him on the jaw and knocked him to the floor.
    DO BOP DE DO BOP DE DO BOP, DE DO.
    The room fell silent.
    The men and women and kids stood numbed by it all. Hibler struggled to his boots, helped up by the half-naked Sarah, who suddenly realized a lot was exposed that shouldn’t be, and ran toward the ladies room, clutching the coat that Alan had received a sock on the jaw for.
    â€œWhat the hell was that?” Major Jackson broke the silence.
    â€œWhatever it was,” Howie said, “the voice is not real. Not a human voice. It is electronically produced.”
    Sgt. Maj. Christensen said, “What do you mean, son?”
    â€œIt’s like a computer voice, sir. But a highly refined one. Like a voice out of a game. Not natural. It’s very good, but still not human. Not God-given.”
    HOLY, HOLY, HOLY! the voice sang. LORD GOD ALMIGHTY. That was followed by the sound of a long fart.
    Kathy Smith and John Hishon both crossed themselves, as did Gordie.
    YOU’RE A SMART-ASSED LITTLE PUNK, AREN’T YOU, HOWIE BABY?
    Howie did not choose to reply.
    ANSWER ME, YOU LITTLE SHIT-HEAD.
    â€œYou’re not real,” Howie said.
    NOT REAL? THEN EXPLAIN THIS.
    Howie was knocked to the floor, one side of his face red and swelling, a trickle of blood leaked out of one corner of his mouth.
    Angel ran to him and knelt down. She glared up at empty space. “Pick on someone your own size, you creep!” she yelled.
    THE NEXT TIME, BITCH, HUBBARD WON’T JUST SHAKE IT AT YOU.
    â€œWhat do you want?” Watts asked, his voice strong and firm.
    HOW INTERESTING! NOT: WHAT ARE YOU? NOT: WHERE DID YOU