Unpopular Science

Remo Williams couldn’t help notice that Mark wasn’t following him. He turned and saw the assistant director of CURE standing there with his jaw hanging all the way to the ground. Mark Howard was looking at Sunny Joe Roam’s house, where a small yellow lantern was illuminating the figure that stood in the doorway.

“’Bye, Daddy,” she called.

“’Bye, sweetheart,” Remo said, then he carried away Mark Howard over one shoulder.

“Put your tongue back in, Junior,” Remo growled.

“Sorry. You didn’t have to cart me off like a sick cat. I looked stupid enough as it was.”

“Letting you stand there drooling on yourself wouldn’t have raised your esteem on the rez,” Remo remarked.

“Sorry.”

Remo glanced over. Mark Howard’s cheeks were a flaming red.

“Chill, dude.”

“Remo, I didn’t know she was your daughter:”

“Now you know.”

“I feel like a stupid teenager who just got busted peeping on the girl next door.”

‘You’re not a teenager.”

“She just kind of caught me off guard, when I saw her standing there.”

“Okay.”

“I mean, I was just kind of, overcome, I guess.”

“You’re rambling, Junior.”

“Yeah, I am.”

Remo could feel the red heat radiating from Howard’s face.

Ten minutes passed in silence.

“This is a little awkward,” Mark Howard finally said.

“Shut up.”

Howard was perplexed when they arrived in Yuma in amazingly quick time. “If you only knew how many hours it took me to get from the airport to the village. Next time I’ll rent something bigger, no matter how much it costs.” He patted the dashboard of Remo’s Ford SUV, which the commercials claimed had enough horsepower to pull frame houses off their foundations.

“Next time don’t come. That’s not advice but a threat, by the way. Where to?”

Howard gave him directions into the unimpressive Yuma airport, to a waiting jet, a sleek and shiny corporate charter.

“You rented this thing?” Remo said. “I guess you are in a hurry.”

“Glad you’re on board with the seriousness of the crisis,” Howard said as he rushed up the aircraft stairs and inside. Remo dawdled but was inside soon enough. The flight attendant was anxious, too. She secured the doors almost before Remo had his foot through the door. The aircraft started rolling.

“Hey, you’re violating IDA rules about me being in my seat with the back in an upright position,” Remo pointed out.

“Let’s get you in, then, before agents of the Food and Drug Administration come for a surprise inspection,” the flight attendant said, not even pretending to be friendly.

Remo didn’t resist as he was shoved into a seat and his belt was latched across his lap. With a brutal yank, the flight attendant tightened it further. Then she took the loose strap in both hands, braced her feet against the seat base, and put her entire body into the effort of dragging the belt as hard as she could.

“Snug enough, sir?”

“I do use the lower extremities, you know,” Remo pointed out.

She came close, her eyes on fire. “Liar!”

Then she stood, smiled and asked a stunned Mark Howard if he would like anything. Maybe a refreshing beverage?

“Just water.” Howard asked worriedly. “Miss?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Do you know this gentleman?”

“Oh, yes, sir, he has flown with us in the past,” she said, her smile brightening to a thousand watts. “He’s a manipulative bastard who uses women then throws them into the garbage heap.”

She went to get his water.

“Happens all the time,” Remo explained.

The aircraft was stopped on the tarmac awaiting the go-ahead for takeoff, and yet the flight attendant still managed to stumble and spill the large plastic cup of water she was bringing Howard. She was disappointed that Remo had somehow, without her noticing, moved to another seat, and the water missed him.

“I’ll get you another, sir.”

“This is fine,” Howard insisted as he took the half- emptied water bottle from her hand. “I don’t need a cup.”

She simmered at Remo and took her seat in the galley.

“Now you know why I hate flight attendants,” Remo said.

“Maybe you should treat them with a little more respect.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking. Maybe you have the time to intercourse the flight crew of every commercial aircraft in the North American commercial fleets—I don’t. Let’s talk. Junior.”

Mark Howard felt his stomach drop as the aircraft left the ground and muscled its way skyward. “I’m sorry, Remo. How many times can I say it.”

“Huh? Junior, you never once said you were sorry about any of this.”

“Any of what?”

“Hello? Nice Remo taking a nice vacation, mean old Mark come and make nice Remo leave?”

“I’m not sorry about that!”

“What I want to know is, where in my contract does it say that you get to call and demand my services whenever you feel like it?”

Howard rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Remo, I don’t know where and if I told you section and paragraph it wouldn’t make a difference anyway. I do know there is a 24/7 clause in the contract.”

Remo looked suspicious. “What’s a 24/7 clause?”

“Just what it sounds like. It means you’ll be available 24/7.”

“Is that some sort of code for ‘all the time’?”