Low Flyer by J.S. Morin

Author:J.S. Morin
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781643551241
Publisher: Magical Scrivener Press

Chuck’s new poncho was a portable oven. Maybe if he’d dressed for it, things might have been different. In this instance, however, the purchase had been spur-of-the-moment, an addition to his plan for an ever-evolving disguise for the duration of his stay on Carson.

Lurking in the mid-morning shade, he watched as two unsavory characters entered Keebop’s Old Fashioned Diner, ground-roller left idling outside. He didn’t get a good look at the pair, just a view from behind. What caught his eye, however, was the Colonial Sheriff’s Department logo on the side of their vehicle. The tint job was faded and weather-worn but still readable from across the street.

Knowing he was pushing his luck, Chuck counted a silent thirty seconds and headed over to check out the ground-roller. Thirty seconds was a no-man’s-land in beating the bushes for someone. A quick flash of that datapad the suit-wearing one was carrying, a chorus of “nos,” and they’d be back outside already. If someone needed a little leaning—or worse, wanted to blab—they’d be minutes at the very least.

Looking as casual as an offworlder in a poncho, datagoggles, and a bolero possibly could, Chuck moseyed over and took a peek into the open-air vehicle.

The seat was a cracked faux leather with the stuffing poking out in a couple places. Every control looked like it had been left out in dust storms aplenty. How anyone could read the dashboard gauges was a mystery. Two coffees rested side by side. One was disposable plastic-foam with a sippy lid and came from Drunken Doughnuts. The other was a reusable thermal canister bearing the same sheriff’s logo from the side of the ground-roller.

“Shit,” Chuck muttered. He kept his feet moving, making his pause out to be a check of something in his datagoggles rather than snooping. It was Buddy all right. He caught a glimpse through the glass door of the diner as the deputy and his brother-in-law—who’d been deputized himself by now for all Chuck knew—shook the tumbleweeds for intel.

Crime didn’t pay, so the saying went. But that was only true in the middle ground, where honest lawmen rounded up incompetent criminals. Smart crooks made out like… well, like bandits. And on the far side of the spectrum, crooked sheriffs could line their pockets by selling their services, selectively enforcing laws both real and imagined.

The diner door opened, and Chuck hurried his way around a corner before the shady sheriffs spotted him.

In the adjacent alley, Chuck found a discarded crate from the diner and plunked himself down. Affecting a quick slouch, he pulled down the brim of his bolero and crossed his arms beneath the poncho. To any casual observer, he was just taking a public nap. What could be less suspicious? At least for a guy who ought to be cowering under a rock if he knew what was good for him.

When the ground-roller passed, Chuck knew he had to make his move.

Navigating back streets, he skulked his way over to the Shitz & Giggles. The

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