Author: Margaret Lashley
Category: Humorous
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/margaret-lashley/page,19,588309-scatman_dues_freaky_florida_mystery_adventures_book_6.html
“Garth, my drawing instrument, please,” Grayson said.
Garth leaned over and handed him a charcoal briquette. Not missing a beat, Grayson skewered the pointy end of his stick into the charcoal, then scrawled the letters Q and K on an area of the box devoid of printing.
“So,” Grayson said. “We have an entity calling herself Queen Kristie, correct?”
“Yes,” the men said.
Grayson glanced over at me.
“Uh ... sure,” I said, then settled into my faded-yellow-and-orange Flintstone car that was missing its roof. My gut gurgled. Apparently, my bacteria was finding this all very amusing.
“The Queen, as we’ll refer to her for purposes of this meeting,” Grayson continued, “is running some kind of scheme she calls Kristie’s Frickin’ Crullers.”
“That’s right,” Garth said, then scooted the patched inner-tube he was riding a foot closer to Grayson’s cardboard lectern.
Grayson turned to Jimmy, who was straddling a rusty Schwinn bike with a ripped banana seat. “You agree this could be a network marketing scheme, correct?”
“Maybe,” Jimmy said. “But with Wade missing, and given what’s happened to Earl, it seems to me there’s something a lot more sinister going on here.”
Garth slapped the side of his inner-tube. “She and her bacteria bandits are trying to take over the world!”
“Right,” Grayson said calmly. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Right now, we’re sticking to the absolute facts at hand.”
I snorted.
Grayson turned to me. “Drex, do you see something we’re missing?”
Besides chromosomes, you mean?
“Uh ... sure,” I said.
I sat up. My knee accidentally tooted the little orange Flintstone horn. “Come on, Grayson! Why would an alien come all the way from outer space to Earth to peddle donuts?”
“That’s exactly what this meeting is about,” Grayson said. “We all agree with Jimmy. There’s got to be much more to her plan than that.”
“You mean like franchising?” Garth asked.
Grayson shook his head. “No. More than that.”
“Enslaving the entire human race?” Jimmy asked.
Grayson sniffed. “Closer.”
My molars pressed down at five-hundred pounds of pressure per square inch. “We’re all tired of playing your guessing game. If you know something, say it!”
“Fine,” Grayson said, directing his attention to Garth and Jimmy. “As I told Drex earlier, there’s a bacteria in cat feces that attracts rats.”
“Oh!” Garth blurted. “Did you know that the pearl fish lives its entire adult life inside a sea cucumber’s butthole?”
I shot the bucktoothed inner-tube pirate a look that could’ve popped his galleon. “What on Earth would compel you to say something like that?”
Garth shriveled and drew his arms into the tube. “Sorry, Pandora. I thought we were exchanging weird facts. Me and my friends do that sometimes.”
I turned to Grayson, growing more irritable by the second. “For the love of God, not the cat crap story again. Is there some point to it that applies here?”
“Of course,” Grayson said defensively.
“Then spare the guys the details and make it.” I scowled and checked my watch. Damn. It was quarter to three. Tootsie-Pop time. My sugar bacteria were growing restless.
“Fine,” Grayson said. “I’ll make it brief. The universe adores a symbiotic survival mechanism.”
“Huh?” Garth asked.
Grayson shot me an I told you so smirk.
“Ugh,” I grunted. “Fine. Tell them whatever it takes to make that make sense.”
Grayson’s cheek dimpled. “As I explained to Drex before lunch, Toxoplasma gondii—the bacteria in the cat feces—makes itself alluring to rats, so cats can catch them easier.”
“Why would it do that?” Jimmy asked.
“To ensure its own survival, and that of its host,” Grayson said. “When the cat gets fed, the bacteria get fed. Both species benefit from the relationship. That’s symbiosis. In extreme cases, some species become so dependent on each other, they can’t survive without each other.”
“Like the pearl butthole fish?” Garth asked, then glanced over at me warily.
“Yes,” Grayson said. “Exactly like that.”
I scooted my Flintstone car closer to Grayson. “Are you saying this Queen Kristie woman needs the bacteria she’s peddling in the donuts in order to survive?”
Grayson shrugged. “Perhaps. Or it could be as with Toxoplasma gondii. The Queen needs what the bacteria is attracting.”
My gut dropped four inches. “We’re the rats?”
Grayson smirked. “Quite possibly.”
“Come on!”
I scrambled out of the plastic Flintstone mobile. Grayson scooted his lawn chair out of kicking range of my boots.
“Hear me out, Drex,” he said.
I folded my arms across my chest. “You have thirty seconds to make your point, or I’m outta here.”
Grayson’s eyebrow arched. “Fine.”
He stabbed the stick at the QK scrawled on the box. “What if Queen Kristie’s ultimate plan is to infest the human race with sugar-loving bacteria that fatten us up?”
My jaw fell open.
Garth raised his hand. “Why would she do that, Mr. Gray?”
“To turn us into toro,” Grayson said.
Jimmy’s head cocked. “Lawnmowers?”
“No,” Grayson said. “Tuna belly.”
The brothers stared at him blankly.
I shifted to one foot. “Fifteen seconds,” I said. “Get to the point!”
“Sushi, people!” Grayson said. “Don’t you see? Toro is the soft, fat belly muscle. It’s considered the best part of the tuna. Desirable, sushi-grade specimens can go for over $400 a pound.”
“Wait,” Jimmy said. “You think they’re going to soften us up and eat us?”
Grayson’s cheek dimpled. “Bingo! Hand that man a prize!”
Or maybe a pair of chopsticks...
Chapter Fifty-One
“We’re gonna to be turned into food for space aliens?” Garth gasped, jumping up and squirming out of his patched inner-tube like a mullet-topped worm from the middle of a charred donut.
“That’s ridiculous,” I said, stomping my foot. “Even if it were true, why in the world would aliens choose Polk County of all places to begin an invasion?”
Grayson teetered on the edge of his battered lawn chair and chewed his lip. “Perhaps Queen Kristie is using this as a test market. That could explain Wade’s disappearance. Perhaps he was Experiment Number One.”
My mind went to the mystery folder I’d scoured the RV for when Grayson wasn’t looking.
Experiment #5
My gut flopped.
Is Grayson testing humans for some devious plan of his own?
Am I Experiment #5?
Stunned, I blinked blankly as Garth pushed his glasses up on his nose and said, “Of course, Mr. Gray! That could explain the use of KFC, too.”
“Absolutely,” Grayson said. “The aliens are working from an outdated guide to intergalactic cultures—one before KFC became so popular.”
“Exactly!” Garth said. “It all fits perfectly now!”
My molars pressed together hard enough to crack granite. Was Grayson an alien himself? No more dancing around the subject. I wanted to know. Now.
I glared at Grayson. “How do you know so much about alien guidebooks and stuff?”
“Simple,” he said. “I have a subscription to The UFO Enquirer.”
“So do I,” Garth said. “They had a whole section on alien travel guides in last month’s issue.”
I let out a long, slow breath. “Fine. Let’s say Queen Kristie doesn’t read magazines, and she’s fattening us up for a bacteria-infested barbeque. Where’s she getting all this bacteria?”
“Excellent question,” Grayson said. “As you all kn
ow by now, bacteria need hosts. Queen Kristie herself could be a fruiting body.”
My lip snarled. “Fruiting body?”
“Yes. An incubator, if you will.”
I grimaced. “You’re not suggesting this woman is some sort of intergalactic bacteria factory, are you?”
Grayson tapped his stick in his palm like a pointer. “Do you have another explanation for why she appears to be able to stay slim despite dispensing a veritable sea of donuts?”
My gut flopped.
Geez. Maybe he’s right.
Grayson smirked. His green eyes glowed with scientific fervor. “Think of it! Queen Kristie could be a sapient form of extraterrestrial microbiome, designed solely for the remote manufacture and distribution of alien bacteria in the most insidious way possible!”
I winced. “Through mind control?”
“No,” Grayson said. “Free samples.”
Jimmy and Garth gasped. “Diabolical!”
“Indeed,” Grayson sighed and nodded. “It’s something the ordinary man is incapable of resisting.”
My nose crinkled. “But this bacterial bimbo’s too skinny to be eating these guys herself. What’s in it for her?”
Grayson gazed up at the heavens. “If the fractal nature of the universe is correct, patterns repeat themselves in perpetuity. It’s highly unlikely that life originated here on Earth. So who’s to say profit and greed have solely Earthly origins, either?”
I cringed. “Are you saying she’s a profiteer? That humans are a cheap and easy source of intergalactic protein?”
“Why not?” Grayson said. “We multiply like rabbits, and we’ll eat darn near anything.”
We all stared silently at the ominous QK scrawled on the old water-heater carton.
There was no arguing with the naked truth—no matter how preposterous or flabby or middle-aged it was.
Chapter Fifty-Two
“Mr. Gray,” Jimmy said, dismounting his rusty Schwinn bicycle and laying it down on the deck. “What’s your take on how this whole alien-bacteria infestation scheme works?”
Grayson studied the charcoal-stained end of his pointing stick for a moment, then glanced up at the sky. “As far as I can tell, once a victim ingests one or two free donut samples, the partaker becomes an unwitting host.”
“An unwitting host?” Jimmy asked. “You mean like Earl?”
“He said unwitting, not witless,” I muttered.
Grayson shot me some side-eye, then nodded at Jimmy. “The alien bacteria disorient the host, causing brain fog, as we’ve witnessed with Earl. You said you’ve seen similar behavior with the other men participating in Queen Kristie’s rituals, correct?”
“Yeah,” Jimmy said. “But what happens next? Is that her end game—harvesting these guys’ fat stomachs and taking off for Krull?”
Grayson pursed his lips. “Perhaps. But I think Queen Kristie may have even bigger plans in store.”
“Bigger?” I asked. “Like what?”
Grayson locked his green eyes on me. “Global infestation.”
I nearly swallowed my tonsils. “What?”
“Consider this, if you will,” Grayson said. “These infected men leave the meetings unaware they’re hosting the alien bacteria, right?”
My nose crinkled. “Uh ... okay.”
“So then, no longer in their right minds, the infected men go about spreading the bacteria to the population, unaware they’re mindless pawns in a microscopic alien game of chess.”
Jimmy shook his head. “I don’t understand. How can the infected ones spread it to others?”
“Oh!” Garth grunted. “Through sex?”
I snorted. “If so, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
What am I saying? Neither do I!
“No,” Grayson said. “Through feces. Weren’t you listening when I said it’s comprised mostly of bacteria?”
I grimaced. “Gross! Are you saying they make people eat their poop?”
“No,” Grayson said, staring at me like I was nuts. “How could you even think such a disgusting thing? I meant that, with every flush, Queen Kristie and her infected troops will be infecting the water supply via their raw sewage.”
I winced. “Oh.”
“Wouldn’t water treatment plants stop that?” Jimmy asked.
“Hey bro,” Garth said, “if an alligator can survive in a sewer, why not this alien bacteria stuff?”
“Both of you bring up good points,” Grayson said, tapping the bottom of his stick on the deck like a cane. “Perhaps water treatment will stop the bacteria. Perhaps not. We’re in uncharted territory, here. But one thing’s for sure. We need to stop Queen Kristie now, before her bacterial brew has a chance to spread.”
“How do you propose we do that?” Jimmy asked.
“The only way possible,” Grayson said. He leaned over and jabbed his stick at the QK scrawled on the water heater box. “We need to give that parasitic princess the royal flush.”
“The royal flush? I asked. “What are you talking about?”
“This.” Grayson turned and stabbed his stick through the QK on the water-heater box, then pulled it out and pointed to the ragged hole in the cardboard. “I’m talking about sending Queen Kristie back through the same space hole she dropped out of.”
“Space hole?” Garth asked.
“The wormhole,” Grayson said. “We need to find the portal she rode in on and send her packing back through it!”
“Argh!” I groaned. “Not that whole portal-wormhole crap again!”
“It’s not crap,” Grayson said, straightening his shoulders. “Unless, of course, you think Einstein was full of crap.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but Grayson beat me to it.
“Wait,” he said, arguing with himself. “Einstein was human, so I suppose he was full of crap, intestinally speaking, of course.” Grayson glanced back over at me. “But that’s beside the point. What I’m talking about is his postulate.”
“Einstein’s prostate?” Garth asked. “I don’t get it.”
“No. Postulate,” Grayson said. “Einstein’s belief that the Theory of Relativity allows for shortcuts across the Time/Space Continuum.”
“Huh?” the three of us grunted simultaneously.
“Drex, don’t you remember?” he asked, then flung his stick into the junkyard. “The discrepancy in time I found with the oscilloscope yesterday. It’s the fingerprint of a real Einstein-Rosen Bridge. Right here in Polk County! Somewhere in the Hi-Ho there’s a wormhole connecting it to the planet Krull!”
“Cool!” Garth said, bobbing his head.
My face collapsed. I shook my head. “Let me get this straight, Grayson. You think this Queen Kristie chick came through an interstellar wormhole just so she could dance around a bonfire in the middle of nowhere with some random fat guys?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Grayson said. “Her actions aren’t random. Though I must confess I’m beginning to doubt the validity of the KFC connection.” Grayson rubbed his chin. “There’s got to be another reason.”
“Maybe she chose Florida because she thought she could do her bidding unnoticed,” Garth offered. “We are kinda a mecca for strange down here.”
I sighed. “That makes as much sense as anything I’ve heard today.”
“Hmm,” Grayson said. “Garth, you could be on to something with the Florida angle. The tropical climate here could replicate her home planet. Bacteria generally prefer warm, moist places to colonize.”
A sharp pain stabbed me between the eyes. “Enough, already!” I blurted. “Let’s say you’re right, Grayson—about everything. Florida is this blonde bimbo’s new nirvana and fat guys are her bread and butter. What do you propose we do about it?”
“I thought I just explained that,” Grayson said. “We send Queen Kristie back to Krull using the same wormhole she rode in on.”
“Krull?” Jimmy said. “I thought that was just a made-up movie planet.”
“No,” Garth sai
d, elbowing his brother. “Think about it. Krull. Crullers? A coincidence? I don’t think so.”
I’D EXCUSED MYSELF from Grayson’s Lord of the Flies porch meeting on the premise of needing an aspirin. It hadn’t been a complete lie. My headache had been real enough. But when I’d checked on Earl, I’d gotten some immediate relief. The tub of yogurt Grayson had left just inside the bedroom door was missing—and I could hear Earl softly snoring again. Hopefully, the probiotics were working their magic.
I was also pleasantly surprised to find that, in my absence, Grayson had ordered food delivered. He and the guys were busy munching on tacos at the picnic table he’d set up nearby the RV.
What I wasn’t so happy about was the conversation going on over the crunch of crispy taco shells.
“First off, we need to find the wormhole’s location,” Grayson said, biting into a taco. “Then we’ve got to figure out how to make it open on command.”
Right. Should we try “abracadabra” or “open sesame?”
“Good idea,” Garth said, picking tomato slices out of his taco.
I sat down next to Jimmy and eyed the heap of wrapped tacos in the center of the table. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but wouldn’t it be easier to just make our own wormhole to send Queen Bimbo back where she came from?”
Grayson snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
I rubbed my forehead. My headache was attempting an encore performance. “Excuse me, but how is that ridiculous?”
Garth snickered. “Pandora, to create a wormhole we’d need the energy of like, fifty-thousand hydrogen bombs.”
“Exactly,” Grayson said, pointing at me with his taco. “And that’s just to create an opening the size of a molecule.”
I shook my head and grabbed a taco. “How do you guys know this weird stuff?” Then I glanced at Garth. “Never mind. I forgot. You speak Klingon.”
“Hey,” Garth said. “It comes in handy sometimes.”
“Yeah,” I said, unwrapping my taco. “I bet the chicks really dig it.”
“The right ones do,” he said, then flung a tomato wedge onto the ground.
While the guys chewed thoughtfully on their tortillas, I took a slurp of Dr Pepper and a snarky thought hit me.