Tony Dunbar - Tubby Dubonnet 00.5 - Envision This (3 page)

“I want to see how these things work on the street,” Beaner insisted. “If I can walk and talk with these doo-dads on and still carry on a conversation then I know we have something special. Man, just think of the bets I can win if no one knows I have these on.”

“You could even count cards in Blackjack,” Raisin offered. “I bet you could compute the odds of the next card being an Ace.”

The Mississippians stared at him stone-faced. Then Pillsbury started laughing and the other two joined in. “Maybe you could at that,” he chuckled.

“Billions,” Raisin said again.

“Let’s give these babies a real test in the real world,” Beaner said pushing back from the table.

“Great idea!” Jason agreed. “We can walk right over to Bourbon Street and I’ll buy you a Hurricane.”

Beaner’s eyes may have been full of sorcery and magic. Jason’s were full of dollar signs.

“I’ll skip the trip,” Tubby said, though nobody had invited him. He didn’t fancy this particular company and anyway they would probably expect him to pick up the tab. “Let me know when you’re ready to do the deal. I’ll be right here.”

* * *

At a little table under a banana tree in the courtyard at Pat O’Brien’s, the three entrepreneurs, the inventor, and Raisin were entertaining themselves hoisting tall pink drinks and throwing questions at Beaner, who refused to part with his Myenvision glasses.

“Who won the fifth race at the Fairgrounds?”

“Switch-hitter,” he yelled triumphantly.

“Where did Moses meet the magicians?” Pillsbury asked.

“In Cairo, of course. Book of Exodus 9:11.”

“What form of government was least favored by Plato?” Raisin queried.

“Uh, timocracy, the rule by the rich military elites,” Beaner said with confidence.

“I’m headed to the head.” Raisin got to his feet.

“I want to see how the GPS thing works on this baby,” Beaner said. “Jerry, go bring around my car.”

Jason thought it sounded a bit un-timoctratic to tell Pratt, the former test pilot, to fetch the car. But maybe Pratt knew which side his bread was buttered on.

That’s how, half an hour later, Jason explained the whole sad episode to Tubby.

* * *

“Before I realized what was going on, they were all getting up and going for a ride. Raisin was still in the john. I had to get the waiter to take my credit card. As soon as I got out to the street I see all three of them in a car, this white Mercedes convertible. Beaner is behind the wheel, and Pillsbury is in the back seat, and he waves at me as they take off down St. Ann Street. I was standing there waiting for them to swing back when Raisin came outside.”

Raisin was shaking his head, crestfallen. “All my fault, Tubby. I guess I’ve just lost my edge.”

“No comment,” Tubby was unforgiving.

“No, it’s my fault.” Jason was in mourning. “I was so nervous about this whole thing that I just turned into my idiot self. I go there sometimes.” He pulled at his beard. “A personal character flaw, I know. I shouldn’t be allowed outside in normal society. People can snow you so quickly nowadays. I have this terrible problem….”

“Enough!” Tubby said. I am not a shrink, he didn’t say. “Was that really your only model?”

“Yes,” Jason said hiccupping. “I mean, I can build another, but so can they. At least I think they can. It’s really simple when you take it apart and look at it. They could probably show Myenvision to a halfway-smart 15-year-old and he could figure it out. It ain’t that hard. I just got there first.”

Tubby made a plan. “You gents sit here for a few minutes and I’ll see what I can do. I believe I can track down a lawyer in Hancock County, Mississippi, who can put together a temporary restraining order and get it served over the weekend. We may be able to get these guys into court by Monday afternoon.”

“That will be too late,” Jason moaned.

“Well, we do what we can do.” Tubby hastened off to his office and his phone, calling Cherrylynn to follow him.

* * *

“Monday will be way too late,” Jason repeated. “They’ll know everything about it by then.”

“Maybe they aren’t as sharp as you think.” Raisin was trying to make him feel better.

“They don’t have to be brilliant,” Jason moaned. “It might slow them down not to have this,” he tossed his phone on the table, “but not for very long. They can program a phone of their own.”

“Do you think Beaner is still wearing the lenses?” Raisin asked.

Jason studied the device resting on the polished mahogany. “I wonder where they are right now.” He picked up the phone and powered it on with a tiny tap. Gracefully he slid his finger along the bottom to unlock. “Let’s see. How about ‘Total Blackout’.”

* * *

The sun was behind them as the three men in the Mercedes convertible sped onto the Twin Spans crossing Lake Pontchartrain. The sky was blue and the waves were shining brightly as they blew southward toward the Rigolets.

The men weren’t talking much, just staring at the Interstate ahead, listening to Rascal Flatts on the radio. In their own ways, each was contemplating the ease of their adventure in espionage. Pratt was thinking about the Makers Mark he would soon be stirring for himself and his girlfriend back at their bayside condo where they would be cooled by the evening breeze. Peacock was running analytical problems through his mind. It would be up to him to decipher the workings of the optical devices, starting as soon as he got back to his highly digitalized man-cave in Biloxi, and just as quickly as he could get the lenses away from Beaner. And Beaner, he was quietly singing to himself as he drove, but the faint lyrics had to do with his awe at having a global positioning system in his mind. It was telling him where the potholes were, what fine restaurants were ahead, and how high the tides were in Mobile Bay.

“Lane change in 2.8 miles. Merge left. Whoa, I could almost close my eyes and drive this baby.” Beaner was juiced.

A fat dude on a Harley pulled alongside. The biker turned to stare at them. He ginned through his beard, gave them a one finger wave, then shot past.

“That ain’t nothin’ buddy,” Beaner said, his head bobbing to the music. He pushed down hard on the accelerator.

Suddenly the lights turned off.

He could hear the motorcycle and the seagulls and feel the wind, but where was the road?

“I can’t see!” he yelled.

“Look out, fool!” Pratt screamed.

The Mercedes bit into a concrete barrier, bounced across the highway to the other side, climbed over a metal rail, and sailed in a pretty arc into the Lake. The car flipped over, spinning wheels to the sky, passenger side down, then sank.

* * *

“The law has a solution for this,” Tubby said, returning triumphantly to the room. “I got a judge…”

“Their signal just died,” Jason said. He pocketed the phone.

“What color is the sky in your world?” Raisin mused to no one in particular.

THE END

The complete

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Tony Dunbar is a lawyer and the author of the Tubby Dubonnet mystery series set in New Orleans. He is the winner of the Lillian Smith Book Award, and his mysteries have been nominated for the Anthony and the Edgar Allen Poe “Edgar” Awards. He has also written non-fiction books about the South and civil rights and has lived for more than thirty years in this beautiful and complicated city.