Robin Cook - Vector

“Yup, this here equipment is a sprayer,” the man had said in response to Curt’s question. Neither Curt nor Steve knew anything about pest control machinery. “Well, that’s not quite true,” the man corrected himself. “It’s really a duster, not a sprayer. It’s designed for powder, not liquids.”

“Looks impressive,” Curt commented while he winked at Steve. It was exactly what they were looking for, ending a weeklong search.

“You bet,” the man said. He gave the machinery a proud pat. “It’s the best on the market. It’s called a Power Row Crop Duster.”

“How does it work?” Curt asked.

“The pest control powder goes into this hopper.” The man pointed to a dark green metal box. Most of the apparatus was green, except for the nozzles, which were orange. “It’s got an agitator in there to fluff up the powder with the help of compressed air. After going through a metering device, the centrifugal fan powers the material along with air out the nozzles.”

“So it’s pretty effective?” Curt asked.

“It’s unbelievable,” the man said. “The fan can go up to twenty-two thousand RPMs, which can push out up to a thousand cubic feet of air a minute. At that speed the air leaving the nozzles is moving at close to a hundred miles an hour.”

Curt and Steve whistled in admiration and began plotting how to get the truck back to the city. The plan they’d conceived they were now executing.

“Let’s just make sure that cop car’s not in the area,” Curt said. He took out his radio and checked with each of the other groups. When he got an all-clear, he slipped the bolt cutters out from his jacket and made short work of the padlock. He gave the cutters to Steve before yanking off the broken lock. The gate squeaked as he pushed it open.

“Let’s make this fast,” Curt said as the three jogged to the pickup truck.

Steve raised the edge of the tarpaulin. Even in the moonlight, Curt and Steve recognized the dark green of the Power Row Crop Duster.

“All right, go to work,” Curt said to Mike and Clark.

Clark deftly wielded the Slim Jim between the driver’s side window and the truck’s side panel. Instantly the door unlocked. He looked over at Mike.

“Open the door,” Mike said from where he was standing in front of the pickup. “If an alarm goes off, pop the hood.”

“Wait a second!” Curt said. “You mean to tell me an alarm might sound?”

“There’s no way to keep it from going off if there’s an alarm,” Mike said. “But it won’t go long provided I get under the hood.”

Curt scanned the neighborhood. As late as it was, there were still a few lights in the apartments across the street. Recognizing he had little choice, he nodded to Clark to go ahead. But he wasn’t happy.

The instant Clark opened the door, the truck’s horn began beeping and the headlights began flashing.

Clark popped the hood open. Mike put the flashlight on the engine. In seconds, though not soon enough for Curt, the horn stopped and the lights went out. Mike closed the hood as quietly as possible and came around to the driver’s side of the vehicle. Clark was already leaning into the cab, expertly working under the steering column.

“I need the light,” Clark said. He stuck his hand out behind his back. Mike passed him the flashlight like a relay racer handing off a baton.

With his ears still ringing from the truck horn, Curt looked up and down the street. He half expected to see lights go on in windows all over the apartment building opposite. Instead his radio vibrated.

While Curt brought the communicator to his ear, the pickup truck engine turned over weakly.

“Shit, it sounds like the battery is low,” Clark said. He was now sitting behind the steering wheel. “This heap must have been parked here for a long time.”

Curt pressed the “listen” button. Nat’s voice came through, along with the usual static, saying that there was a problem.

“What kind of problem?” Curt demanded nervously.

“Kevin and Luke have taken off after a couple of fags,” Nat said.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Curt spat. “Go get them and get them back in your truck! And get the others, too.”

“Ten-four,” Nat said.

Curt threw up his hands in exasperation.

“What’s the matter?” Steve questioned.

“Don’t ask,” Curt said. “I’m going to kill them all!”

“Do you have any cables in your truck?” Carl called. “We may have to jump-start this sucker.”

“What else can go wrong?” Curt didn’t like the idea of driving his own truck into the fenced-in parking area, but there was no other way. He sprinted back to his vehicle. As he climbed into the cab, Nat went by in his truck heading for Willow Street and beeped in greeting. Matt and Carl waved and grinned. Curt swore under his breath. How had he teamed up with such a bunch of lunatics.

As quickly as he could, Curt pulled into the parking area and nosed in next to the Wouton pickup. With his engine still running, he opened his hood, then leaped out. He grabbed his jumper cables from under the seat. Mike took the other ends as Curt attached his to his battery.

As soon as the leads were connected, the pest control truck engine leaped to life. Curt disconnected the leads from his own truck while Mike did the same with the Wouton vehicle.

“All right,” Curt blurted anxiously. “Steve, you and Clark drive this freaking pest control contraption back to the White Pride, but don’t drive back through town and go left here on Hancock! And drive the speed limit, no faster! If you’re stopped by the fuzz, the mission is a failure. Mike, you come with me!”

“But the White Pride will be closed,” Steve complained.

“So ring Jeff’s goddamn buzzer,” Curt retorted. “Jeer, do I have to think of everything?”

Curt swung into his cab and quickly backed out onto the street. Then he climbed back out of the truck as Clark steered the Wouton pickup through the gate.

“Where’re you going?” Mike questioned.

“I want to close the gate,” Curt said. “I don’t want to advertise that the truck’s gone.”

As the gate’s hinges squeaked closed, Curt heard distant shouts and cries for help coming from the direction of Willow Street. It made his hackles rise.

Back in the truck, Curt gunned the engine and took off toward Willow Street. He left his lights off.

“Did you hear those yells?” Mike questioned.

“Of course I heard them,” Curt snapped.

“It pisses me off,” Mike said. “I miss all the fun.”

Curt shot his minion a dirty look but resisted telling him off.

Curt screeched to a stop in the middle of the intersection so he could look both ways on Willow. He saw Nat’s truck about half a block down the street in the direction away from the commercial part of town. Turning the steering wheel hard, he headed in its direction. Off to the right on a lawn he could just make out figures in the darkness pummeling others who were sprawled on the ground. Lights in the surrounding houses were coming on in response to the commotion. That’s when he heard the police siren.

“Shit!” Curt yelled. As he pulled to a sudden stop behind Nat’s truck, he glanced in the rearview mirror. The blinking lights of a police cruiser were racing toward them.

“Get their asses into Nat’s truck,” Curt barked to Mike, who jumped out of the cab. Mike didn’t protest; the urgency of the situation was obvious.

Curt watched the police car approaching in the mirror. At first he thought he’d merely hunker down and stay out of sight until the cop exited his car and joined the melee. That would give him a chance to speed away and leave the troops to the fate they deserved. But then he got another idea. Having been to a half dozen demolition derbies, he knew the best way to incapacitate another vehicle with your own was to back into the other’s front.