Mindhopper by James B. Johnson

Author:James B. Johnson [Johnson, James B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Genetic Engineering, Faster Than Light Travel, Life Extension, Science Fiction, Telepathy
ISBN: 9781479407811
Google: ugEVCwAAQBAJ
Goodreads: 457444
Publisher: DAW
Published: 1988-03-01T08:00:00+00:00

15: Escape and Evasion?

I left the farm before Manny woke. No way I wanted to go through a parting scene. It was bad enough leaving Maria. They snuck me onto Bossman’s chopper and soon Crane Plash was lifting off.

“Where to, Wyndy?”

“Back toward Tampa. I left my car there.” And some hidden cash—though I was fairly rolling in green, my favorite color, by now. Which thought was an anachronism in itself—like me—because money was color coded; however, the big bills were still mint green.

He flew the proper directed air corridor until the last minute when he told ATC he spotted a fire on the ground and was dropping down to investigate. Whereupon I stepped out and waved and he was gone.

I trudged to the nearest shopping center, and believe me Tampa is full of them, stole a bike and was soon off to the fairgrounds where I’d left the ’57 Chevy. Before dawn, I was at a marina where I broke the lock off a pump and stole enough gas to fill the tank.

To avoid a connection between me and Bossman’s sheepaloe display at the Hilsborough County Fair outside of Tampa, I headed for Sarasota before instigating my plan.

A spoonful of silver nitrate mixed in with a bottle of Coppertone suntan oil and applied over my exposed skin turned me into a black man. It would wash and wear off in four or five days; but nobody was looking for a black Pembroke Wyndham—all they wanted was a haole.

Out on Siesta Key, I wandered down the beach and finally went to the house on stilts over by Big Pass which was a museum. It had belonged to John D. MacDonald, the writer, and was where he wrote most of his Travis McGee stories. The attendant handed me a brochure which said more visitors came here than to any of Ernest Hemingway’s houses. John D. had my vote, too. For a while I wandered around looking at real books, movie posters, plaques, typewriters, desks, manuscripts, and so on. People came and went.

On leaving, I asked the door attendant, “Did you see that old man and kid?”

Of course he was busy and probably didn’t remember anybody who came in. He kind of rolled his eyes and shrugged, trying to be polite, but not sure of what I was getting at.

Tugging my hat down over my eyes, I said, “No big deal. Kid just looked familiar.”

He handed a pamphlet to a family and I faded out.

Two hours later, I was back on the mainland and stopped at a Publix supermarket. I found a televiewer and called the cops, not turning on the picture.

“Hey, I seen ’at kid, the one on the teevee?”

“What kid, mister? Would you turn on the picture, please?”

“I’m ’fraid o’ trouble. I jest wanna do my duty. ‘At kid, the missin’ one, name of Temptate or sumpin’, ya know?”

“Where?” Cop’s voice was bored, thought he was dealing with a drunk. Which was okay. By the time they got it all figured out, the trail would be cold.

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